


Lyrium's Hold

by TaraF



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 53
Words: 193,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraF/pseuds/TaraF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Danarius gone, Fenris' markings become unstable. Damian Hawke is determined to save the man he loves, but that is not as easy as he had hoped. Their travel to the Tevinter Imperium and what Hawke is willing to do place pressure on their relationship. Will both Fenris and the love between them survive? This is a sequel of Magic's Touch, but can be read separately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More chapters are already on FF.net (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8459035/1/Lyriums-Hold), but just like for Magic's Touch I decided to upload here as well.

A small group went aboard a small boat that was docked at the Gallows. Fenris' eyes went over the tired faces. Everyone was exhausted after the many long and brutal fights they had fought, and nobody had come out of it unscathed. Isabela had a couple of ugly cuts on her bare arms, Aveline was bleeding from a shallow head wound, Varric was limping because an arrow had hit him in his left foot, Merrill looked pale after abundant use of blood magic but seemed otherwise unharmed, and one of Carver Hawke's eyes was swollen so much that he could no longer peek through the eyelids. Fenris' body was aching all over from the burns, the attempts of blood magic to let his blood boil within his veins, and the blows from blades, maces and daggers, but he paid no attention to it. The relief that they had made it out alive was stronger than the complaints of his tormented nerves. Rebelling against the entire Templar Order... surely even for Damian Hawke that must be the limit. Perhaps the Champion of Kirkwall could retire now that he had done the most insane thing possible.

"Who needs healing?"

Fenris looked up from his wooden bench. His stomach tightened at the sight of Hawke standing tall in the boat. His braid had not survived the chaos of the battle, so his hair spilled in a disheveled mess over his shoulders. His robes were torn and burned at some places. Fenris felt his mouth curl in amusement. Hawke hated it when his robes were damaged beyond repair, something that - considering how Hawke tended to spend his time - happened regularly. But except for the state of his hair and clothing, Hawke appeared to be alright. He was alive. That was all that mattered to Fenris. When they had plunged themselves in the abyss of outright war with the templars, he had almost been certain they would not make it out alive. Yet here they all were, alive and well. _Well... not all..._ Mabs, Hawke's mabari, had not survived the last battle. Meredith had pierced the hound while everyone was busy taking down the statues that had magically come to life. Both an archer and a possessed mage were missing from their group as well.

"It can wait, Hawke," Aveline said. "Nobody is severely wounded."

"But you're bleeding," Hawke objected. Fenris noticed Hawke was swaying on his legs. It could be due to the movements of the boat on the waves of the sea, but Hawke's coordination did not match those.

"Sit down, Hawke. You'll rock the boat," Isabela pointed out. Even on this tiny thing she considered herself the captain.

"But..."

"You're drained, Hawke. I can see it. How do you want to cast a spell?" Merrill added.

"Hawke, s _it_." Orders from the Captain of the Guard. With a grumble Hawke took his place between Carver and Fenris. For a moment Hawke placed his hand on Fenris' arm. Though the gesture itself was subtle, Fenris was fairly certain the others could see his markings light up in the night. Not that he minded. He had had worse things to worry about.

"You don't look well," he said softly to Hawke.

Hawke waved his concern away. "I'm just tired, like Merrill said. It's been a long day. My magic will recover within a few hours."

"So..." Varric began. "What are we going to do now?"

All eyes turned to Hawke, who sighed at that. "We need to get away from Kirkwall, that's for sure. But I don't know where we should go. Ferelden would be the obvious choice, but if the templars decide to hunt me...  I think Cullen will let us go, but Sister Nightingale said the Divine is keeping a close eye on Kirkwall. She'll take action soon enough, and that means she will order the templars to arrest us. And then Ferelden is the first place they'll look for me."

Merrill blinked in surprise. "Aren't you friends with the king of Ferelden? He was really nice to you. I'm sure he will help you when you go back."

Hawke gave her a tired smile. "I don't think I can call myself a friend of the king. Those few minutes in the Keep was the only time I've met him. And somehow I doubt he'll be pleased to see me again after what happened here today." He sighed again. "I just want to go somewhere without crazy people who suddenly decide to... to blow things up and kill everyone in their sight. Maybe a beach. One that's not the Wounded Coast."

"I can recommend a few if you like." Isabela winked.

"Please do."

"If I had my ship, we could have gone anywhere," she added, a little bitter.

"Yeah, and then we could have joined Castillion in the slave trade! I'm sure we would have made excellent partners," Hawke retorted sarcastically.

"Hey, that's not fair!"

"I don't regret killing that ruthless slaver. I don't make deals with that kind of people." Hawke glanced at Fenris from the corner of his eye. "Anyway, maybe I can purchase a ship... It's the fastest way to get out of Kirkwall. Then we'll see where we're going. Not that you all have to come with me. I mean, you can all decide for yourself. You didn't ask to become fugitives, with the Chantry hunting you..."

"I think everyone has made their choice when they joined you in battle," Aveline replied.

Merrill nodded enthusiastically. "You did the right thing, Hawke. We won't abandon you."

Hawke rubbed his temples. "I'm not so sure. But thanks. All of you."

It was not long before they reached the docks. It was decided everyone would quickly pack their belongings and then meet back there to try to get a ship.

When the others had left, Carver and Damian Hawke were still standing awkwardly in front of each other. Fenris waited for Hawke a few feet away to give the brothers some privacy. However, with the chaos in the city greatly reduced now that most rogue mages, abominations, demons and blood mages had been taken care of, their voices travelled far in the cool night air.

"I had not expected to see you again so soon," Hawke eventually said. "And definitely not in a war to defend mages."

Carver shrugged. "I was not here for the mages," he said brusquely. "At least not for those in the Circle."

"I know. It is good to have you on my side, Carver. I'm glad that's still the case."

Carver now looked even more awkward. Apparently he did not know what else to say to his rival brother.

"Are you coming with us?" Hawke asked.

"No." Carver shook his head. "A small group of Wardens is waiting for me outside the city. We happened to be in the area when the explosion hit." He smiled mockingly. "Somehow I knew you were involved."

Hawke seemed concerned. "Don't you think it's better to get out of the Free Marches now?"

"I'm a Warden. Wardens stand above the law. Besides, you were the leader in the whole thing. I doubt people will remember my part in the battle. That's how it always goes, after all."

For once, he did not sound begrudging when he said this. Carver appeared more... at peace. Of course that could be accounted to the fact that his older brother was left with the responsibility for what had happened today, while he could walk away, back to the Grey Wardens.

"I... guess I won't see you in a while then."

"I guess. Have you decided where you're going? Will you go back to Ferelden?"

"I honestly don't know yet. I'll write you once things have calmed down a bit."

"Okay... Goodbye then."

Hawke's teeth flickered in the dark as he grinned. "Another awkward goodbye within a few weeks? Come on, Carver. I don't know when I will see you again."

Hawke spread his arms. Carver looked at the open invitation with strong suspicion, but then he yielded and the two brothers embraced each other.

"Would you believe me if I said that I miss you? Sometimes, that is."

Fenris heard Hawke laugh, muffled against Carver's armor. "I love you, you secret softie. I will miss you too."

After a few more seconds Carver carefully began to pull himself away. "I have to go."

Hawke nodded. "Goodbye." He watched his brother disappear around the corner. Fenris came closer once the sound of Carver's footsteps had died away. Once again he was uncertain how to act, what to say. So much had happened today, and so much was still to happen. It was difficult enough to sort out for himself how he felt about everything.

Hawke looked around, searching. "Where's..." he started. "Oh. Right. Never mind." He began to walk. Fenris followed.

"Were you... looking for Mabs?"

He could barely see Hawke nodding. "For a moment I forgot... Oh, _fuck_ , I hate this day." Hawke's step length and frequency increased. It was more running than walking what they were doing now.

Fenris knew a mabari could not be compared to someone's poodle. They were intelligent hounds, and extremely loyal to the person they chose as their master. A mabari hound was a true companion. Plus Mabs was part of Hawke's old life... when he had still had a complete family and lived in some quiet town, without blood mages, betrayal, fighting and constant death. Another part of that life lost. Not much was left of it. Only a younger brother, and the memories Hawke carried with him. Ghosts, looking over his shoulder.

They went to Hawke's estate, both lost in their own thoughts.

"Why didn't you kill him?" Fenris asked while Hawke opened the door.

"Do we have to talk about this now?"

"He betrayed you. He used you to destroy the Chantry. Surely your friendship does not extend that far."

With a deep sigh Hawke turned to look at Fenris. "You're right," he whispered. "I did not spare him out of friendship."

"Why then? He deserved his fate. He is an abomination and a terrorist. The man even wanted to die!"

"Carver."

When Fenris frowned, not understanding, Hawke went on: "Thanks to Anders Carver is still alive. If he had not been with us in the Deep Roads, my brother would have died. The taint would have destroyed him. I would have been forced to watch him die, unable to help him, unable to heal him. Because of Anders we managed to find the Grey Wardens and convince them to let Carver join them. Thanks to Anders I did not have to return home to tell Mother I had let my other sibling die as well. Anders saved me from another failure. And because of that, I couldn't kill him. I owed him the life of my brother. If Sebastian wanted to kill Anders, I wouldn't have stopped him. But it's not fair to ask it of me. I can't kill the person who gave my brother a chance to survive. I can't. So I didn't. Now we're even. I have no kindness left for Anders. I never want to see him again. I just hope he won't hurt anyone..."

_You mean anyone else. He already killed the Grand Cleric and all the priests and sisters. Why would he stop now when Hawke has given him the chance to continue to fight for his cursed cause?_

Fenris did not reveal his thoughts to Hawke. It would not help to do so. All these years he had never understood why Hawke still put up with the abomination's company, why he had refused to take action even though it became more and more clear that the man had turned into a monster. Now he finally knew why. He should have known it had something to do with Hawke's family. The weight of the relatives he had lost bore heavily on Hawke's conscience, Fenris knew that. But with Carver far away and Hawke rarely speaking of his brother, Fenris tended to forget about the other Hawke. Perhaps there was a little more truth to the junior Hawke's complaints than he had thought.

Hawke went up the stairs to his bedroom, quickly opened the doors of the wardrobe and started pulling out random pieces of clothing.

"Wouldn't it be wiser for you to purchase some new clothing?" Fenris suggested.

Hawke looked over his shoulder. "Why?"

"In robes everyone can spot you as a mage from a mile away."

"Oh, right. I had gotten so used to wearing them that I hadn't considered... But it's back to being on the run again. Well, I also can't wear this anymore, so I'll get changed anyway for now and buy something else later." With that Hawke pulled his ruined robes over his head.

"On the run again?" Fenris repeated. "I can see how that applies to me, but when have you been on the run? You mean with the Blight?"

Hawke slowly shook his head while he tried to decide what he would put on. "I'm an apostate, Fenris. Father was an apostate, and my little sister was one too. Ferelden is not Tevinter. You think we never had to move to escape the templars?"

"Oh. Of course." During the years he had spent with him, Hawke had never made much of a secret of his magical abilities. And over time Hawke had become so powerful that magic simply radiated from him. When Fenris had walked into Danarius' trap, he had had no idea that his former master was hiding upstairs. With Hawke next to him, even the Tevinter magister's presence had been overshadowed. All in all it seemed so obvious to him that Hawke was a mage, that he had difficulty imagining Hawke effectively hiding it from people.

Meanwhile, Hawke had finally picked a robe to put on. Once dressed he bent over the bed and lifted the mattress. When he stood straight again he was holding a large purse that was jingling with coin. Fenris raised an eyebrow at him.

"Really?"

Hawke gave an apologizing grin in return. "I'm afraid I'm not always that original." His smile faded. "Don't you want to pack some things?"

Fenris shrugged. "What should I take? I have nothing of value. All I need I have on me."

"Are you mad?"

"At whom?"

"Me of course, you dork. For having to flee Kirkwall now that you're finally free. You have a home here."

Fenris could not hold back a barking laugh. "A home? Danarius' old mansion? It was a roof over my head, but I cannot say I will miss the place. I could have left it anytime without looking back." He paused for a moment. "What about you? I imagine you find it harder to leave. I remember you saying Kirkwall is your home now."

Hawke scratched his beard. "Huh, when did I say that?"

Fenris' eyes darted from one corner of the room to the other before they returned to Hawke's face. That he remembered something Hawke had told him so long ago and that Hawke himself had already forgotten... it felt like he had gotten caught on something. Caught on caring. Strange how long it took to get used to no longer having to hide his feelings and force them away. "I think it was... when you first visited me."

Hawke's face lit up when he remembered. "Ah, yes. You got angry when I said that and accused me of my sister's death meaning nothing to me."

"I... I should not have said that, back then. It was just..."

"Don't worry," Hawke said friendly. "It was a long time ago. And to answer your question: actually Kirkwall has no more been a home to me than Lothering has." He sat down on the edge of his bed. "Like I said, our family mostly consisted of apostates. We never knew how long we could stay in the next place. There was always the chance we would be discovered... so it was better not to get attached to a town and a house. I remember one time... it was just me, Father and Mother then. Mother was pregnant with the twins. We lived in a quiet town, as usual, and my parents were planning to stay until the babies were born. I was... six or seven then." Fenris took place next to Hawke to listen to his story. Hawke did not often speak of his youth, of his time before Kirkwall, when he had still been part of a family. Just like Fenris did not speak much of his own past, as Danarius' slave. With Fenris next to him, Hawke continued: "Father had forbidden me to talk to the other children as long as I had no full control over my magic. It takes years of practice to hold it in at times your emotions overwhelm you. So the only people I knew were my parents. I tended to stay inside, to study and to avoid contact with others so that I wouldn't betray us. But one day it was warm and sunny, and I went outside and sat in front of our house to read while Mother was at the market and Father at work. Actually, I think I was reading the book I let you practice with during your first reading lesson. Anyway, my attention was on the book, and I didn't notice a group of children approaching. I was a an awkward kid at the time, not used to other people, pale and a bit chubby of always being inside..." Hawke laughed softly. "Glad that's changed. So, odd little boy none of them had ever seen before: that sparked interest. I don't think they meant any harm in the beginning; they were just curious. But I was surprised by their presence and knew I should not talk to others, so I did not respond when they asked my name. Instead I tried to hide behind my book. The other children then decided I was weird and wanted to get a reaction from me. One of them picked up some things and started throwing them at me: twigs, small stones, hands of dirt. At first I tried to ignore that too, but others joined in and they began to throw harder. Eventually I got sick of it, and... I snapped."

"What did you do?" Fenris asked, curiosity and a bit of pity for this young, lonely Hawke he knew nothing about mixing in his stomach.

"I... uh... I froze the leader of the group. Turned him into a huge ice cube. He could not even wiggle a finger. Very impressive actually; it took me months to get that spell right again after that. But the rest of the town was not pleased. The children fled from me, screaming loudly that there was a witch in their midst." Hawke grumbled at that offending title. "We immediately had to flee. Luckily the village was so small there was no Chantry and thus no templars, so it took the villagers some time to get to the nearest place with representatives of the Order. Still, we had no time to bring anything with us and had to run into the woods and hide under bushes while they chased us. My eight months pregnant mother was exhausted and wept in distress and misery. Father was furious and deeply disappointed. It was then that I vowed I would never make a mistake like that again. Even when I could easily control my magic, I kept my distance from other people. And when Mother and Father said they were planning to stay in Lothering for good, I did not truly believe it. Something could always go wrong. One of us could make a mistake. Carver could get drunk in the local tavern and in his foul mood complain to one of the pretty girls about his apostate ass of a brother. Bethany could decide to heal someone who was in pain, after which that person would alarm the templars... Even when a few years had passed, I always took into account the next day could be the day we had to leave. And in some way I was right... we had to flee eventually. But from the darkspawn, not the templars."

Hawke stared at his hands. Silence filled the air between them. After he had thought about Hawke's words, Fenris spoke. "That doesn't sound like the man I know. You did not seem to keep your distance from me or the other people you were with... And you certainly did not try very hard to hide your magic."

Hawke chuckled. "True. I've... changed. I think it happened after Father died and I was supposed to lead the family. For some reason I was a little bit less afraid. And then I lost Bethany... while we were on our way to a city filled with templars. I thought I would be extra careful then. In Kirkwall I did try, especially during the first year. But Gamlen had already told people that I'm a mage to get them to hire me so that I could pay off his debt... and gradually I got more in touch with people. The jobs for Athenril required connections, and I realized I liked interacting with others. I enjoyed not being locked up in my own home, which is basically a disappointing alternative for the Circle. And then I had to fund a Deep Roads expedition to earn enough coin to get us out of Gamlen's hovel. And for some crazy reason I ended up as the leader of a group of extraordinary people. So maybe in that regard Kirkwall has been more of a home to me than Lothering. But living here has cost me too much... I've lost my sister, indirectly my brother, and eventually my mother." Hawke turned his head to the side, to Fenris. "At least I met the most extraordinary person too."

"Yes, I imagine you haven't met many people with lyrium in their skin," Fenris replied dryly.

Hawke snorted, effectively breaking the sense of loss and sadness that threatened to settle between them. "Indeed I haven't." He got up. "We should probably go. The others will be waiting."

When they passed the closed door of the room that used to be Leandra's bedroom, Hawke halted. Slowly he raised a hand and placed it against the wood. Then he pressed his forehead against it. "Farewell, Mother," he whispered, his eyes closed. Fenris looked away. This was Hawke's way to say goodbye to the place that had been his home for three years, despite what he might say. He expected Hawke would continue to stand like that for some time, but after a few seconds Hawke's eyes went open and he ran off the stairs as if he had not stopped on his way down to caress a door at all.

Downstairs Hawke quickly shot into the library. He returned with a book in his hand, which he put in a linen back he hoisted over his shoulder, ignoring the quizzical look Fenris gave him.

"Bodahn? Orana?"

As if they were summoned demons, both the dwarf and the elf hastened to meet their employer. Sandal came to see what was going on as well.

"Yes, messere?"

"Yes, master?"

"Enchantment!"

Hawke spoke to Orana first. "Orana, I have to leave and I'm afraid I won't come back. You have been an excellent servant, but you'll have to find a new place to work. Here," he pressed a few gold pieces in her frail hands. "This should be enough. I advise you - if you can - to go to another city. It doesn't have to be far away. But get out of Kirkwall if that's possible. I don't think the templars will question you about me, but I can't be sure and I don't want you to get hurt."

Orana blinked rapidly. She obviously did not completely understand what was going on. "Have I displeased you, master?"

Fenris clenched his fists. How often had he not spoken similar words? To hear it directed at Hawke was... sickening. He knew Orana was not Hawke's slave, that he royally paid her every month, that he had tried to convince her to stop calling him master, but to hear it anyway... it was not something he could get used to.

"No, no, of course not. Like I said, you have been an excellent servant. But unfortunately I have to leave. Now. And you can't go with me. So will you promise me to take care of yourself? _Don't_ work for someone if they don't pay you. You're a free woman. You can decide over your own life."

She bowed for him. "I promise. Thank you. You have been the best master I could wish for."

Hawke smiled at her, took her hand for a moment and squeezed it before he turned to Bodahn.

"Bodahn, good man. It's been an honor to have had you as my servant. Never have I heard a complaint about all the bloody footprints you had to clean..."

Bodahn chuckled and wiped away a tear at the same time. The rest of Hawke's speech did not reach Fenris' ears. He was distracted by Sandal, who was blatantly staring at him with his round, light blue eyes. He could almost _feel_ the dwarf's gaze travel over the markings visible on his neck, arms and feet. While Hawke paid Bodahn for his services and shook hands with him, Sandal shuffled closer to Fenris, his eyes not blinking and constantly focused on different areas covered with markings. Fenris tried to hide his unease, but that got more difficult as the dwarf came closer and closer. This fascination with the lyrium in his body he had seen often enough, and he did not appreciate it.

Once Sandal was only a few inches away, the dwarf surprised him by abruptly pressing a broad thumb against one of the many lines on his left arm.

"Enchantment!"

The sensation of Sandal's touch was something he had never experienced before. The dwarf clearly had no magic, and yet a mysterious tingle spread through the markings. It was not the touch of a mage, nor that of an ordinary person. Fenris jumped back to create a distance between himself and Sandal.

"I am not an enchantment," he growled, holding his hand over the spot Sandal had touched. It felt irritated, almost like an insect had stung him.

The simple dwarf looked confused. "Enchantment?"

They had drawn the attention of Hawke and Bodahn.

"I hope he is not bothering you, serah!" Bodahn exclaimed.

Hawke looked strangely interested. "Did he just call you an enchantment?" he asked, his eyes drifting over the markings on the arm Fenris was holding.

"He calls everything an enchantment," Fenris snapped back. "Don't you think we should leave?"

"Yes..." Hawke said slowly, as if his thoughts were suddenly somewhere else. "Yes, we have to go."

With a last farewell to Bodahn, Orana and Sandal, Hawke and Fenris left the estate. Fenris noticed that Hawke did not look back once, like an experienced fugitive. He wondered if Hawke truly had closed off the part of his life he had spent in Kirkwall so easily, the city in which they apparently both had found their freedom. 


	2. Chapter 2

It turned out they were not the only people planning to leave the city. Once Hawke and Fenris returned to the docks, a group had gathered, despite it being very early in the morning, a time peaceful citizens should be asleep in their own house. The second rebellion in their streets had awoken the peasants from their slumber, and apparently some had decided that a city where angry Qunari, blood mages, demons and abominations could roam the streets was not a place they wanted to live. With the Templar Order and the City Guard greatly reduced in numbers, Fenris could not blame them. It might have been different if Hawke had chosen the side of the templars. The Right of Annulment would have been completed, with no possible danger - in the form of unstable mages - left. Instead, Hawke had shifted the balance the templars had maintained, and what would happen now was impossible to predict. He could only hope Kirkwall was not the beginning of a new Tevinter.

Merrill, Varric, Isabela, Aveline and Donnic were already waiting for them, a bit away from the crowd in an alley.

"What's going on?" Hawke asked. "Do all these people want to take a ship?"

"They are scared after another war next to their houses," Aveline replied. "I suspect this is only a small part of the group that will leave Kirkwall after today."

Hawke let his eyes go over the people pushing each other away to get to talk to the captain of one of the ships docked in the harbor. Some were holding a child's hand, or even had a baby or toddler in their arms or on their back.

"This reminds me of the Blight," Hawke said softly. "I have stood in a panicked crowd like this before."

"This is not the same, fortunately," Aveline said. "Nothing compares to the horror that is the Blight. I don't think it will be difficult to book passage yet. Or do you really want to purchase a ship?"

Hawke considered for a moment. "I think it's better if we draw as little attention to ourselves as possible. We will be more difficult to trace if we disappear into the crowd of refugees."

"Excellent thinking. Only one problem," Varric remarked. "Everybody knows your face. You're the Champion. If you go to talk to a captain, people are bound to recognize you. And then they want autographs and a hug. Or hit you on the head for fighting against the templars."

Hawke pulled the cloak he wore over his robes over his head. "You're right. One of you will have to arrange passage for all of us." He looked at Fenris and grinned. "I think Fenris here is also likely to get recognized. Same goes for Varric. Merrill will also draw attention with her Dalish tattoos. Aveline is known as Captain of the Guard. If she is seen leaving Kirkwall in the middle of the night it will cause even more panic... Why don't I have normal friends?"

"Like attracts like, it seems," Fenris mumbled. Hawke heard, judged by his snicker.

"I believe I will jump out the least," Donnic said. "I am... was just a regular guard. Few will know I'm married to the Guard Captain."

Hawke nodded and gave Donnic a hand full of coin. "This should be enough for all of us. Ask explicitly for private quarters. Getting on board without being noticed will be for nothing if we are being piled up with other refugees. We need privacy."

"Does it matter where the ship is going?" Donnic looked from his wife to Hawke, not sure who he was taking orders from in this case.

"For now, it doesn't," Hawke decided. "We can specify our destination later. Now we just need to get out of this city."

"Does that mean I still don't get a ship?" Isabela pouted while Donnic disappeared into the crowd in search of the nearest captain willing to take them.

Hawke gave her a strict look. "It was not going to be "your" ship if I bought one anyway. Unless you killed me and took my ship... but I've heard that's crude and amateurish."

"Ugh, you're starting to sound like Fenris, Hawke."

"If I buy a ship, you will be captain, don't worry about that. I couldn't tell the front from the back of such a thing. And _maybe_ you can get it when I've reached my destination, hmm?"

Isabela beamed at him. "Now that's more like the Hawke I love!"

"But no promises!" Hawke hastened to add. "I can't guarantee anything at the moment. Let's get away first."

"Yes, yes, you've said that enough already," Isabela waved his concern away. "We'll be fine, I'm sure."

"What a relief," Hawke muttered while turning away from the group to look at the gathered crowd.

They had to wait a long time before Donnic returned. While they waited it started raining softly. A calm, steady drizzle that soaked everybody thoroughly despite the small drops. At least it provided a good excuse to hide in their cloaks. When it was raining people were less observant and tended to look at the ground, Fenris knew from experience. In combination with the darkness of night, they had a good chance to remain unnoticed.

When Donnic finally came back, he had succeeded in arranging passage for them all. "But the captain won't sail till dawn," he informed them. "So we'll have to wait a few more hours. We do have permission to board the ship already."

"Good. One question: where are we going?" Varric inquired.

"Ferelden. The ship sails to Amaranthine."

So Hawke would return to his homeland after all. In the dark Fenris could not see his reaction, but he seemed impassive about it. Fenris himself was slightly curious about this country he had never been before. The Fereldans were clearly a strong people, having crushed a Blight in less than a year, and with someone like Hawke originating from them... Any place that was not Tevinter was fine with him, though.

"Well, if everyone has what they need, I suggest we get on board and conquer our cabins, in case the captain gets the idea to put as many people in as he can after all."With that, Hawke took his staff from his back and used it as a cane, starting to limp in the direction of the docked ships.

"Has he hurt his leg?" Merill asked Fenris.

Fenris growled at the amount of ignorance she managed to display and shook his head. He did not answer her, choosing to follow Hawke instead. They carefully went around the crowd as much as possible - Donnic showed the way -, until they only had to walk in a straight line to their ship. Fenris was about to cross the gangway when Aveline pulled at his cloak to stop him.

"Fenris, is Hawke alright?"

Why she insisted on asking such a question at a time like this, he had no idea. Once they were settled she could ask Hawke himself how he was feeling. Fenris did not possess a device that accurately measured Hawke's mood. But knowing Aveline she would not let him move before he had given an answer.

"I suppose he is well enough."

"I know it's a heavy blow for him what happened today... Anders blowing up the Chantry, Sebastian's threat, Orsino going insane and turning into a... a monster, Meredith going over the edge right after him... and now he has to flee the city that was his new home. It can't be easy for him."

"Can't this wait?" Fenris said through gritted teeth. "We are drawing attention to ourselves."

"Just... keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Hawke is a strong man. He will be fine."

It was too dark to see, but Fenris could picture Aveline's solemn gaze as if he saw it in broad daylight. "Even the strongest can't bear an infinite amount of misfortune," was her reply.

* * *

They had two cabins for themselves on the ship. Hawke, Fenris and Isabela slept in the first, Donnic, Aveline, Merrill and Varric in the second. While they waited for the ship to depart they gathered in one cabin to deliberate on their plans.

"I want to try to purchase a ship in Amaranthine," Hawke said. "It's a large port city, so that should be possible. Then sail to different places in Ferelden, Antiva, Rivain... anywhere really. That should make it impossible for the Chantry to follow our trail. I'm thinking of two months continuously moving before we... try to settle somewhere. But if someone has an alternative idea, feel free to say so."

"It's still more difficult to disappear with a ship than when we simply travel into the hills," Fenris  argued. "Ships are registered when they dock, so they are easy to track."

"True, but if we go to random places, it won't help them much to know when we've been somewhere."

"They will guard every port city as soon as they realize we travel by ship."

"But it will take time before they find that out."

Varric snickered. "Most people on board of this ship will probably recognize that head of yours when they see it."

Hawke nodded. "I'm planning to do something about that, though."

"What, putting a bag over your head?" Isabela joked.

"I've considered that, but no. I think shaving my beard can do the trick too. At least it should make a real difference."

"I like your beard, Hawke. It reminds me of a squirrel."

"Err... I'm not sure that comparison makes me want to keep it, Merrill. Perhaps it's better to get rid of it if it looks like I have a squirrel on my face."

Isabela and Varric both stared at Hawke's face, their imagination clearly running at full power in an attempt to picture him without beard. Fenris tried it too, but he could not imagine Hawke without his beard as much as he could not picture him without his long auburn hair, his piercing blue eyes, or the proud determination in his posture.

"Welcome to the true gentlemen's club," Varric said enthusiastically. "Beards are very overrated anyway. Especially by dwarves. My ancestors are as stubborn as the stone they surround themselves with."

"Right. But everyone agrees with the current plan?"

Fenris shrugged. "It seems a bit of gamble to me to think it will take them months to figure out we travel by ship."

"I'll make sure we remain informed of what's going on," Varric reassured him. "We can always change strategies when needed."

"Very well."

Aveline got up from her crouched pose. "I suggest everyone tries to get some sleep. It's been a long day."

Hawke, Fenris and Isabela went to the other cabin. Despite her history of many nights spent in numerous ways that did not include sleeping, Isabela could not suppress a yawn, and without much comment she sought up her bed. Hawke took his knife from one of his pockets, apparently set on immediately shaving off his beard.

"I haven't done this in years," he said to Fenris, speaking softly not to disturb Isabela, whose eyes were already closed. He smirked. "I don't suppose I can ask you for advice."

Fenris smiled back. "I'm afraid not. You could go to Varric."

"You letting your beard grow as a disguise won't work then?" Hawke cocked his head.

"What is it?" Fenris asked, not pleased with the look Hawke gave him.

"Nothing. Just imagining how you would look with bright red hair, like your sister."

Fenris glowered at Hawke. "Forget it." He would rather forget everything that had to do with Varania. She was not his sister. Every bond they might have shared had been destroyed when she chose to aid Danarius, when she lured him into his master's trap. She would have watched him being chained and dragged back to Tevinter, back to slavery. Family would not do that. As far as Fenris was concerned, they shared nothing. That he had spared her life on Hawke's request did not change anything. Sometimes he regretted that he had let her walk away unharmed. One time he had even dreamed about killing her. He had held one arm against her throat, pushing her against the wall, and with the other hand he had crushed her heart. And it had felt good. Blurred by the dream, of course. But in his waking hours he still remained unsure whether it had been the right thing to do to let her live. Hadriana and Danarius had paid for what they had done to him. The slavers sent after him had paid for following their orders. Only Varania was alive, while she had committed a crime that equaled those of his former _owner_.

 _What's done is done_. Pining over this past decision would do him no good. Varania was out of his reach now, and he would never see her again. He would do his best to forget her altogether. If Hawke would cooperate and not continuously remind him of her.

Hawke knew him long enough to know it was wisest to back down immediately. Luckily he had a perfect excuse too: "I'm going to shave!"

He found a small mirror in their cabin, took it to the tiny table that was stashed in the room and dropped down on the only chair. With his eyes on the mirror, he made a vague gesture with his free hand. The candle on the table was suddenly burning, while Fenris sensed the subtle shift in the magical aura around him that accompanied Hawke's spell.

Hawke grumbled at the mirror. "I still can't see a damned thing. If I do it like this I will cut myself and bleed to death."

"Don't you need some kind of... soap as well?"

"Hawke turned his head a little to look at Fenris. "Ah, some knowledge of the act of shaving after all."

Fenris pressed his lips together. It was true he had to shave in the past... but obviously not himself. Danarius had not always had a beard. Not that shaving his master's beard was such an awful thing to have to do... especially not compared to the other orders he had executed. But it was one of many small things that had meant Danarius' total ownership over him. Intimate things like helping him get dressed, washing his feet, shaving his beard... Those were the things he now stumbled over. Those things tended to get close and pull him back, back into old memories.

Hawke's smile faded and was replaced by a crinkle in his brow. "Fenris, everything okay?"

It were those little things he had to get out of the way to truly live as a free man. The markings, what he had been used for, killing the people who had tried to help him, all that would always stay with him. He had to give them a place and live with them. But those small things in innocent circumstances were boundaries that had to be overcome. They should not keep their association with slavery.

His face determined, Fenris got up from his bed. "I'll do it," he said. "I can see it better than you when you have to use the mirror. But you need soap."

Hawke leaned back in his chair as Fenris came closer. "Whoa, whoa! You don't know how t-"

"I do know how," Fenris interrupted him. "Now let's get his over with so that we can get some sleep. I'm tired."

Hawke did not look completely convinced, but ceased his protests nonetheless. Fenris felt Hawke's gaze on him while he found a piece of soap in Hawke's bag. He then realized he still had no water, but Hawke stopped him before he could get up from his crouched pose. With the same casual movement he had used to light the candle, Hawke filled a cup on the table with ice. A few seconds later the ice had melted.

From then on it was easy and straightforward. Soap on Hawke's face, then carefully with the sharp edge of the knife over his cheeks and chin. The candle provided scarce light, so Fenris had to bent closely over Hawke to be thorough. Hawke's breath fanned against his cheek, his head back, throat exposed, eyes on Fenris' face. He could see the large arteries pulsating in Hawke's neck. He had never realized this position was so... vulnerable. One slip of the blade and he would have cut an artery. He could have killed Danarius so many times, and the possibility had never even occurred to him. One quick cut, and it would have been over before Danarius was aware of what had happened, before he would have had time to do something. Not even enough time for magic. Only now that he was free, and it was Hawke sitting in front of him... Fenris briefly shook his head to change this trail of thought and refocus on what he was supposed to do: shaving Hawke's nice, full, dark red beard.

When he was finished, Hawke ran a hand across his cheek and rubbed his chin. "It feels so weird!" he complained. "It's far too... soft and smooth. And cold! Why is my face cold?"

Fenris hid a yawn behind his hand. "You'll get used to it."

"Bah! I regret it already."

Fenris stripped himself to his smallclothes. He really was tired now. It had been an exhausting day. So much fighting, so much fear. It had taken its toll. So without paying attention to Hawke's discontent mumblings, Fenris lay down and fell asleep shortly after his head touched the pillow.

A few hours later he was woken up by a soft noise. As he tried to pull his mind away from sleep's embrace, he was not certain what had awakened him. Then he heard it again, or at least he heard something. A tortured moan, soft, but audible. The moan was followed by another one, a little bit louder. Fenris turned his head towards the sound.

"N... no." It came out with a sigh, slow, hesitant, pained. "No, no."

"Hawke?"

No response, except for another sigh. Fenris pushed himself up. Their cabin was still dark, the candle no longer burning. He softly called Hawke again, but got no answer.

"No! No, please!"

Fenris jumped out of bed, yet his bare feet barely made a sound when they hit the floor. Quickly he stalked to Hawke's bed, where he found him turning restlessly, his face broken in grief. A sob broke from Hawke's lips, but still he did not wake up. Fenris hesitated for a few seconds, but then - remembering his own frequent nightmares - stretched out his hand and shook Hawke's shoulder. Hawke woke up almost immediately with a startled sound. His mind still with his dream, it took some time for Hawke to distinguish dream from reality. Slowly, his eyes focused on Fenris, and he calmed.

"Fenris."

Fenris sat down on the edge of Hawke's bed. "I'm here."

"I..." Hawke rubbed his chin, frowned at the unfamiliar feeling of his clean shaven face, remembered why his beard was gone, then finished his sentence. "Bad dream," he muttered.

"I suspected as much." When Hawke did not say anything else, Fenris asked: "Do you want... can I ask what it was about?"

"Uh... the usual. The people I could not save or killed. Mother asking me why I couldn't save Bethany, Carver blaming me for not saving Mother... Father being disappointed because I nearly got Carver killed too. And..."

"And?"

"You... You were gone. I didn't know where you went. If you had left or... died. I was alone with the people I couldn't save and the bodies of those I killed. Even my dog. I couldn't even keep my bloody dog alive!"

Another situation in which there were no words that could make it better. At least no words Fenris could think of. So he did the only other thing he could do, what he wished someone else would have done with him one of those times he had awakened sweaty and filled with terror: he climbed into Hawke's bed and pressed himself against him. He would drive away the nightmare and replace it with feelings of bliss. And he wanted Hawke. There was something about this unexpected vulnerability in the otherwise so strong and composed man that made him itch with longing. Hawke sighed as he wrapped his arms around Fenris' waist, his body already reacting to the welcome distraction. Lyrium came to life. The markings made the contact with Hawke's hands travel through his entire spine. The sensation - warm, tingling, fire, ice and electricity intertwined - was so powerful he would have dropped down if he had been standing. Fenris pressed closer and claimed Hawke's mouth with his tongue. The kiss felt new, different. No hairs prickling his upper lip and chin. Instead smooth skin, but not as smooth as his own, still with the interruption of stubble.

His weariness was forgotten for now. There was a more urgent need that demanded to be satisfied. Hawke groaned against Fenris' mouth while Fenris' fingers found the entrance to Hawke's smallclothes.

"Shhht," he hissed, remembering Isabela's presence in the third bed. He and Hawke both looked in her direction, but as far as they could tell she was vast asleep. Hawke bit his lip to remain quiet, but Fenris forced his mouth open for another kiss. Hawke moaned again around Fenris' tongue, as Fenris' hand fell into the right rhythm. No tormented moan this time, not one born from pain, grief or defeat, but one spawning from arousal. He longed to take possession of Hawke, but decided to restrain himself. He had started this to get Hawke's mind off the nightmare plaguing him. He should not allow his desire to turn his intentions into selfish wanting. So he was Hawke's tonight. Still, he could not bring himself to wait any longer. Fatigue continued to press behind desire.

He withdrew from the kiss. "Do we have..?" he whispered with a rough voice.

"I have a few poultices... but those are for emergencies..."

Fenris decided this could qualify as an emergency well enough. He hung over the edge of the bed to grab Hawke's bag. His markings gave everything around him a soft blue glow. At least it helped him find one of the poultices. He expected Hawke would protest against the use of his poultice, but no word came. When he pushed himself back up with a poultice in his hand, he saw Hawke was looking at him, his eyes following the glowing lines that circled over his body. Fenris realized the markings easily shone through the fabric of his smallclothes, giving away every inch of his erection. Unease and pride rivaled within him at Hawke's admiring gaze. To avoid this inner battle for the moment, he put a bit of poultice on the palm of hand, then closed his hand around Hawke's erection to cover him with the balm.

After having freed himself from his smallclothes he straddled Hawke and positioned himself. In the light of his markings he saw Hawke's excited expression dwindle. Two hands on his hips stopped him.

"Fenris..."

Another barrier. One known by Hawke, and thus also a barrier for him.

 _"What Danarius said... '_ _The lad is rather skilled, isn't he'..._ _your reaction... He... did not mean your skills as a bodyguard, did he?"_ Hawke's hesitant question, shortly after their encounter with Danarius, echoed in Fenris' head, and Fenris knew his reaction was resonating in Hawke's head. _Venhedis, Hawke!_ _Let me break through this barrier. This one most of all. This should not remain Danarius'..._ Their reunion had not lasted long enough yet for them to overcome this specific position. They had been doing their best to make up for the lost years, but their eagerness had led them to bypass confronting moments like this and seek satisfaction in a different way. There were plenty of things to try after all... But now it had caught up with them and they were forced to face it.

"I want to feel you." Fenris could not come up with a better argument than that. Hawke's hold on his hips loosened a bit, allowing Fenris to lower himself a bit further. Hawke's head rolled back, but he also strengthened his grip again to hold Fenris back.

"But..."

 _No more 'buts'._ Fenris angled himself, then pushed down. Hawke made a startled noise that gradually turned into another moan. Fenris paused a moment. When the alarm of his nerves subsided, he started rocking his hips. Back and forth. Careful at first, then more confident. Hawke's hands remained on his hips, no longer holding back, but encouraging and setting the pace. One hand shifted over his thigh to wrap around Fenris' hard member. Fenris curled his toes at the combination of the stimulation of Hawke's hand and Hawke inside him.

Neither of them had to wait long for climax to hit. When Fenris went over the edge, Hawke followed suit.

"Leto, Master desires that you serve him during dinner. One of the other boys has fallen ill."

He nodded. "Yes, mother." They both knew "fallen ill" had more to do with the consequences of punishment than a true disease, but most slaves refrained from calling it that. Leto did not know why, just that that was the way it was.

"You know what to do, right? Bring in the plates and stand behind Master's chair in case he needs something while he eats. You'll have to pour wine. _Don't spill_."

"Yes, mother. I know."

His mother smiled at him and brushed his hair from his eyes. "Good boy. Perhaps master will like you. It can be useful for you if he does. Maybe you'll get a bit more food then. You're growing so fast."

"Fenris?"

He was lying on top of Hawke, his chin against his chest. Beads of sweat collected at the small of his back and his buttocks. He felt Hawke's seed leaking from him. Hawke whispering his name pulled him back from his flashback. As usual, the memories fled from him as soon as he returned to the present. It was just him and Hawke again. He lifted his head to show Hawke he was conscious. Hawke put his arms around him. His markings hummed where they were touched, but not so viciously as before.

"More memories?"

Fenris growled an acknowledgement. With his desire fulfilled, fatigue was all that was left. He let his head rest on Hawke's chest again, too tired to move and seek out his own bed.

From far away he heard Hawke's voice as he drifted off to sleep, but the meaning of his words did not come through.

"We're going to be okay. I promise. Messed up as we are. We will disappear and live a quiet life, with no more fighting and death. I won't fail again."


	3. Chapter 3

They got only a few hours of sleep after that. Fenris did not feel well-rested when he was woken up by Hawke sitting upright in the narrow bed. It was like he had only just gone to sleep instead of hours ago. Apparently he had gotten used to a good night's rest since he was no longer a hunted slave. Now he would have to fall back into the old habits of somebody on the run. He rubbed his eyes to drive the sleep away and looked at Hawke. At least he would not be alone this time.

"Good morning guys!"

_Really not alone._

Isabela was already out of bed and getting dressed. She was busy pulling up her ridiculously long boots, but still managed to send Hawke and Fenris a mischievous smile.

"I've had _such_ a lovely dream tonight," she sighed. "Very... arousing."

Hawke swung his legs over the edge and stretched his back. "Let me guess, you dreamed about sex."

"Good guess! It was amazing. I could hear everything, smell everything, _see_ everything. Almost like it was real..."

"Hear, smell, see... not feel? Sounds like that dream was lacking in the most important aspect."

"Oh, but I was not the one having sex."

Only now Hawke became somewhat suspicious. "Your dream was about others...?"

Isabela's grin was outright wicked. With one hand pressed against her bosom, she moaned obscenely. ""I want to feel you,"" she imitated with a low voice.

Fenris was more awake now too. Isabela had been aware of their intimacy last night after all. That was... embarrassing. Next to him, Hawke's freshly shaven cheeks turned bright pink. "You... you could have said something."

"What, and spoil everybody's fun? I don't think so."

"But...  but it's private."

"Then you shouldn't do it in the same room I sleep in, sweet thing. If your talking hadn't woken me up, your sounds later on would have. You're not the quiet type."

Hawke's face was now a deep red, a color that did not go very well with that of his hair. Usually he could handle being teased; Hawke possessed a healthy dose of self-mockery, but when it came to sex he was more easily embarrassed. Too bad for him that all Isabela's senses were fine-tuned to pick up any sexual clue in her environment. She had guessed right when Hawke and Fenris had spent the night together for the first time, and had seized the first opportunity to eavesdrop on them. It had not helped that Hawke had asked her to pick the locks on Fenris' door so that he could get inside and talk to him, which had allowed Isabela to simply walk inside after Hawke had gone upstairs.

Fenris tried to look unaffected by it all, although he had to agree the idea that Isabela had been able to hear everything was not pleasant. At least it had been dark... Then he remembered his glowing markings and growled.

The sound drew Isabela's attention. "I suppose he's not that bad after all?"

"Just... shut up," Hawke mumbled, his face still on fire.

"I was considering to ask you if I could join..."

"Ha, I don't think so."

"Are you sure? I think I can really _add_ something to the experience."

"Enough! Please, just drop it. Shut up."

To Fenris' surprise and dismay he felt something inside him stir at Isabela's seductive promise. He quickly turned on his stomach to hide the physical reaction to her words. He did not desire Isabela, nor did he desire to experiment in the bedroom. So why his body became aroused at a suggestion that was meant more as a joke than a serious offer... He decided that he was still struggling to become fully awake and that his drowsy mind was not fully functional yet. As long as he was lying in bed sleep was threatening to pull him back.

"Fine, fine. I'll go to Varric instead. He'll love to hear this!"

Before Hawke could stop her, Isabela had run off to tell the story - undoubtedly with a few extra "details" - to Varric. "Ugh," Hawke grunted. "Lesson learned: only have sex in complete privacy. She will never let us forget this."

"I suppose we could have seen that coming," Fenris replied wryly.

"I suppose so... Well, I think we'd better get up before Isabela has had the chance to turn this into something that's even worse than what she caught us doing. She is probably going to tell Varric that she actually joined us." Hawke placed a hand on Fenris' shoulder. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine. I'm just still tired."

"It has been a short night. I'm sorry for waking you up."

Fenris turned his head to the side to look at Hawke. The blush was subsiding. So was Fenris' unwelcome erection and drowsiness. "No need to apologize. I can't say I regret it."

And the blush returned. It brought an amused smile to Fenris' face. Who knew the Champion of Kirkwall could get a face as red as the band Fenris wore around his wrist? Although perhaps Hawke could no longer be called that... Would the templars or the Chantry scrap his name from the records after his part in the mage rebellion? Would they take down the statue they had put up in his honor only a few years ago? Or just remove Hawke's name from the base of the statue? It was not like the heavily armored figure bore any resemblance to Hawke's person. The thing even wore a helmet, something Hawke was not likely to own. Not that it mattered much. It was unlikely they would ever return to Kirkwall. Before he could have gotten used to the idea of being able to build a real life with Hawke in Kirkwall, the option had been removed. Things never turned out as anticipated, neither for him nor for Hawke.

"Eh... I'm glad you're taking it so well, but I think it's better to postpone the... uh... intimate acts from now on until we have a room for ourselves."

Fenris nodded. He felt like he should be more bothered by Isabela witnessing him and Hawke together, but for some reason he found it difficult to care. There were more important issues.

"How are you now?" he carefully inquired, recalling Aveline's concern and the nightmare that had upset Hawke so much. He would rather not ask questions like that. So far they had opened up to each other when they felt like it. Fenris was not eager to start prying now. He did not want to seem overly concerned or distrustful of Hawke's state of mind. If something was truly bothering him, Hawke would say so. And yet Aveline's inquiry had planted the seed of restless worry inside Fenris. She had made him feel like he did not care enough to even ask how Hawke was doing, made him feel like a bad friend, a bad lover. He hated that. But due to his lack of experience in any type of relationship, it was not unlikely that he actually was bad at it. He was still learning. And he did not want to spoil it.

Hawke scratched his chin and made a face. "It's fine. I will be fine. Except that I regret shaving my beard. It itches! You must have done it wrong."

Fenris forced himself out of bed to gather his clothing. "You don't have hairs on your cheeks and chin anymore and I haven't cut you. I'd say that is exactly how it needs to be done."

"How would you know, you have never had to shave!"

 _Not myself, no._ "If you hate it so much, let it grow back. Perhaps you can cut your hair instead. Or shave _that_ off." He started putting on his trousers.

"Oh no, no. The hair stays. I have fought many intense battles against Mother for that. She hated it when I decided to let it grow. The day it was longer than hers and Bethany's... never again has she complained that loudly. Me keeping it in a braid was actually the closest to a compromise we could get."

"It appears your acts of rebellion have expanded since then," Fenris remarked while he buttoned up his tunic.

"Hmpf, that's not funny. I would have given a lot for arguments about my hair being my biggest problem."

 Fenris chuckled. "So would I."

Hawke combed with a few fingers through his messy hair while he looked around the room. "Do I have a comb here somewhere?" He picked up his bag from the ground, rummaged through it and put it back. "Damn it. I _always_ forget to take a comb with me." He fished his robes from the ground and pulled them over his head. He was finished at the same time as Fenris was, who was considering whether he should put on his steel breastplate.

"Leave that heavy thing be, Fenris," Hawke said, again fervently combing through his hair with his fingers. His struggle did not have much effect. "We don't have to fight here, and if this ship somehow ends up sinking, you don't want to be wearing armor."

Fenris hesitated. For years he had always worn all his armor, breastplate and gauntlets included. Simply no longer putting it on in the morning... it felt wrong. He felt vulnerable without it. Danarius was gone, there would be no more armies of slavers hunting him... but because of Hawke he was on the run again. Not alone this time, but still. You never knew if a crowd was about to turn against you, if there was an ambush waiting around the corner. But even his trained paranoia had to admit the odds were small while they remained on board of this ship. They were forced to keep to themselves in their cabins anyway, to avoid being recognized by other refugees. Eventually he agreed with Hawke and left his breast plate lying on the ground.

Hawke took the two steps it took to cross the small room and reach Fenris. He took Fenris' hand in his own hands and pulled off the steel gauntlet.

"You can do without those too," he said. He took off the other gauntlet. "I'd like to actually feel your hand when I touch you."

Fenris raised his eyebrows. "I thought you wanted to save the "intimate acts" for when..."

"I didn't mean it that way," Hawke quickly said. "Touching your hand, I mean. I... oh, forget it, you're just messing with me on purpose!"

"I wouldn't dare." Fenris turned around. "Isabela might have told her version of the story already."

"Oh, shit, you're right." Hawke sprinted away to save what little of his reputation he could.

* * *

Their ship reached Amaranthine without incident, although the journey could have been shorter if the wind had been more willing to cooperate. Still, it only took them a few days. In Amaranthine Hawke successfully managed to acquire a small ship. Thanks to Isabela's connections, a modest crew was hired as well. All Fereldans, and thus far less likely to recognize Hawke as the Champion of a city in the Free Marches. Most Fereldans had been too busy rebuilding their country after the Blight to care about foreign events.

They spent one day to gather as many resources as they could: food, water, new clothes, potions and poultices. Pressed by the rest of the group, Hawke yielded and bought pants, something he then continued to complain about almost as much as the loss of his precious beard.

Hoping to pick up some news, Varric went to the local inn, but it turned out their ship carried the news. They were the first to reach Amaranthine, so the refugees pouring out were the ones to bring information of the mage rebellion in Kirkwall. A few hours after they had reached the harbor, the streets were buzzing with stories of an army of blood mages, abominations and possessed templars destroying Kirkwall. No official word yet, and the Chanter's board did not contain a wanted poster of Hawke or any of his companions. It seemed they had been fast enough and would be able to get a decent head start on any potential pursuers.

All in all they had reason to be hopeful when they sailed away from Amaranthine. Rialto Bay was set as their destination for the time being. With summer coming to an end it was safer to sail to warmer areas up north. The Fereldan part of the Amaranthine Ocean was known for its vicious storms during fall and winter. Rialto Bay gave access to both Antiva and Rivain, providing plenty of opportunities to disappear.

* * *

Fenris sat next to Hawke - who was now wearing one of his new pairs of pants -, close to the fire basket they had placed on the ship's deck. It helped to stay warm when dusk drew near and the sun lost most of its power. It had been a grey, chilly day, with occasionally a bit of rain, just like the days before that. It was dry now though, so most of the group had decided to get some fresh air. Hawke tended to turn a little green when he stayed below deck, so he was especially eager to get out of the small cabin he and Fenris now shared.

"Hey, Fenris, read this," Hawke suddenly broke the silence, pushing a large tome under Fenris' nose.

It had a dark, rugged leather cover with strange symbols Fenris could not read. He guessed they were runes. The leather binding had stains on it that looked an awful lot like blood. The book radiated a dark aura that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. His markings gave off a tingling feeling as a warning. Instinctively he leaned back to put more distance between himself and that mysterious book.

"What is that?" he asked suspiciously.

Hawke looked a bit guilty. "Do you remember the blood mage Tarohne, who wanted to infiltrate the templars with possessed recruits?" When Fenris nodded slowly, Hawke continued: "And the books she had left, protected by demons, that contained information on her forbidden magic?"

Fenris' gaze darkened. "You mean the books we destroyed?"

"Yes, those. Except for... uhm... well, this one." At Fenris' threatening stare, Hawke nervously scratched his chin. "Don't look so reproachful. I didn't intend to keep it. But I found it after an appointment with the Viscount, and I didn't dare to destroy it on my own, with all the demons that guarded the other tomes. So I took it with me, thinking I could destroy it later when I had some of the others as back up. But then I... forgot about it. I had it on one of my shelves in the library for a long time. Recently it caught my eye again, and... I browsed through the pages a bit." He stretched out his arms to open the book. He tapped with his finger on a page. "And then I read this. I thought that maybe it applies to you, so I decided to hold on to it a little longer."

Fenris did not feel very tempted to read even one word of a thing that was so obviously stained by foul magic, but Hawke insisted. "Come on, just read that part. The book won't bite."

"No." With a look of disgust on his face, Fenris closed the book and handed it back to Hawke. "If it's so important, just tell me what it says."

Hawke scratched his chin again. "Fine," he sighed. "It describes the process to make... victims more susceptible to demonic possession. Usually a decent amount of pain is enough for the subject to give in, but the book mentions the possible "benefit" of inflicting even more torture. Most people just snap at some point; they go completely insane, or they die. Those are of little interest. But some... I'm not sure what exactly happens - I don't think Tarohne fully understood either - but some break. It's not the same as the ones going insane. The ones who break, let go of their personality, their memories and feelings. They let go of their soul to find that extra bit of resolve that is needed to cope with the extreme pain. It leaves the person empty. Sane, but a blank slate. Apparently those are optimal conditions for possession to take place. Somehow it leads to a better merging with the demons, especially higher-ranking ones, like Pride or Desire. The result is a very intelligent abomination, with great power at its disposal. The physical changes in these cases are minimal, so the abominations are almost impossible to detect. Until they decide to attack you, of course."

Fenris stared into the fire, trying to make sense of Hawke's story. "What could this possibly have to do with me?" he eventually asked.

"Think about it. The ritual left you with no memory of your life before, and-"

"I am not possessed by some kind of demon!"

"I wasn't suggesting that. The book is focused on possession, but the breaking of a person has nothing to do with demons. It's the pain that causes that. You are not possessed, but you've been broken, Fenris."

Irritation over Hawke's decision to keep such a damned book and push it under his nose turned into white-hot anger at that statement. Through gritted teeth, Fenris said: "And is there a way to "fix" me, or did you just want to tell me I'm weak?"

"Weak? Fenris, the things the book describes to reach the level of pain required to break someone... it's horrible. I think you're exceptionally strong that you survived something similar. But unfortunately the book only focuses on inflicting pain. It doesn't say anything about treating a broken person. Tarohne was only interested in breaking them. It's a shame we've destroyed the others books... Maybe one of the others-"

"Venhedis, Hawke!" Fenris jumped up, yanking the book from Hawke's hands. The anger inside him exploded into a rage that consumed every other thought. "You should have destroyed the cursed thing after you found it! There is no aid to be found in its pages!" _What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?_ "What do you want me to say about your bloody finding? I do not harbor a demon inside me, and I don't need to be told I'm broken!" He raised his hand with the book in it.

"No, wait!"

And threw the tome into the fire basket. As soon as the cover touched the flames, the book exploded. The fire started to shift, moved slower, became thicker and more solid. It concentrated until it had become as thick as pudding. The heat became more intense while the molten fire shaped itself. Two claws appeared. With a loud roar the rage demon lifted itself from the basket. It did not waste time to scan its surroundings. Hawke, still sitting on Fenris' right side, was the first the demon saw, and thus the first to get a bolt of fire his way.

Hawke pushed himself backwards and spread his legs. The fire bolt hit the deck right between them, but it could not prevent his pants catching fire. He quickly raised his hands to cool the flames and put them out before he scrambled to his feet.

"Which part of "guarded by demons" did you forget?" he shouted above the roars of the rage demon.

Fenris did not answer. The claws of several shades forced him to quickly grab his sword. He had not reached the point that he dared to leave his blade out of sight, and now he cursed Hawke for persuading him to leave the heavier parts of his armor in their cabin. He cursed his own hot-heatedness that had made him throw the book in the fire. He cursed Hawke for keeping the bloody thing in the first place, and for wishing he had kept the others as well. Fury rushed through his veins and set the markings ablaze. The power of their activation overwhelmed all sensory information and made his limbs go numb. The sensation was disorienting, and it took him a few seconds to adjust. Then he lashed out, right on time to drive the shades back that surrounded him. Next to him Hawke held his hands in front of his body. After a snap of his fingers the approaching rage demon was pierced by a dozen ice spikes. The monster screamed at the contact of its fiery form with the ice.

"Where's your staff?" Fenris yelled at him.

"Below deck. I didn't think I'd need it when reading a book."

"That was not an ordinary book!"

"Only when you throw it in the fire."

_Damn him and that witty mouth of his._

Luckily they were not alone on board. A bolt in the dark shape of a shade's head announced Varric's arrival. He was followed by Merrill, who did have her staff with her. A moment later Aveline and Donnic stormed into the fray, sword and shield ready. Together they made quick work of the demons and it was not long before the unearthly sounds had died away and the ship was quiet again.

"Where did those bastards come from?" Varric asked while he hung his crossbow on his back.

Fenris' eyes shot to Hawke, but Hawke was busy inspecting the damage done to his pants. The demon had burned the fabric on the inside of his thighs away so that part of his legs were visible. He looked ridiculous.

"Hawke?" Aveline's judging gaze focused on the top of Hawke's head.

"Look what the demon has done to my pants!"

He was not sure if Hawke was covering for him, but Fenris suddenly felt ashamed. In his anger he had rashly endangered everyone on board. Unleashing a group of demons on a small ship... He brusquely turned away when he noticed Merrill's eyes looking in his direction. He stomped to the rear of the ship to be alone.

 _Broken._ Like he needed Hawke to tell him Danarius had destroyed everything about him that made him normal. As if he did not already know.

Only when he leaned over the rail and stared at the horizon, his markings quieted. He had thought the foothold of his anger had been destroyed when he had taken Danarius' life, but now his anger had taken control once more, making him act like a fool. Thinking back, he did not even fully understand what had made him lose control like that. He trusted Hawke, trusted his resolve and morals. Hawke had only regretted destroying Tarohne's tomes because he believed they could contain information to help Fenris. Misguided and optimistic as that was, it was no excuse for his outburst. With his rage gone, he was left with the feeling of weariness he was struggling with since they had fled Kirkwall.

Anticipated footsteps resounded on the wooden deck. Fenris did not have to look over his shoulder to know it was Hawke. He kept his eyes fixed on waves far away.

Hawke leaned next to him on the rail. "I usually apologize when I have messed up and know others have reason to be angry. But in this case I don't think I understand. So... care to give me a reason to apologize?"

Clenching his jaw, Fenris said nothing. He continued to stare into the distance.

Hawke sighed. From the corner of his eye Fenris saw him rubbing his chin. The gesture was turning into habit. "I know you're not possessed," Hawke said. "And I never meant to suggest that you are weak. I admire your strength. Saying you've been broken might have sounded wrong, but that is no reason to unleash a bunch of demons on the ship."

Hawke tried to be reasonable, but this only irritated Fenris more. _Come on, Hawke. Say what you have to say. Be mad, I deserve it._ In an attempt to get more of a reaction from Hawke, he persisted in his silence.

It worked. "Listen, Fenris," Hawke said with a low voice that suggested annoyance and limited patience. "A demon burned the pants off my ass, and you can't be bothered to give an explanation. What in the Void is wrong with you?"

Slowly Fenris turned his head to meet Hawke's eyes. The light blue irises looked able to shoot ice spikes just as well as Hawke's hands. "I don't know," he said.

"You'll have to do better than that!"

"I don't know, Damian!" Fenris yelled back. He abruptly turned back to face the ocean again. He could hear Hawke breathing hard through his nose. He expected Hawke to walk away, but a few silent minutes later he was still there. _Of course. I'm the one who runs away here. Hawke never runs. Hawke stays._

"I apologize," Fenris eventually said. "I don't know what came over me. It won't happen again."

"That's not much of a promise, since there are no more tomes protected by demons left."

Fenris scowled at the ocean. "You know what I mean."

Another silence. Then Hawke straightened his back. "I'm going to get changed. I'll see you when you are done brooding."

Fenris did not stop Hawke. After a few seconds he glanced over his shoulder to watch him walk away. The seriousness of the effect was mostly lost because his pants indeed had been burned on the backside as well, providing a nice view on the lower part of Hawke's buttocks. Something inside Fenris' own trousers twitched at the sight. The idea that they had been arguing with Hawke's ass barely covered was both laughable and arousing. The urge to follow and grab Hawke there welled up inside him. Fenris shook his head, ran a hand through his hair and forced his eyes in a different direction. Trying to find an answer to Hawke's question was more important: what in the Void was wrong with him?


	4. Chapter 4

Fenris failed to come up with an answer to the question, but the daily events on board of the ship returned to normal nonetheless. Hawke did not really seem angry about his book being destroyed. Annoyed was a more fitting term. Yet within a few days he appeared to have forgotten about it; Hawke was not one to hold a grudge. Fenris knew Hawke did not actually forget anything - or very little at least - but he was content enough to let the matter rest. This way his own embarrassment could mostly be ignored as well.

At the end of the day they had docked in their next destination: Antiva City. They had spent as many days on sea as possible, prolonging the journey by sailing around rather aimlessly, but once in Rialto Bay sailing in circles would likely be noticed, so they decided to visit the nearest major port. Isabela, who proved to be more bossy than Hawke as soon as she had a ship underneath her boots, decided who had permission to leave the ship at a certain time and who had to keep watch. Fenris was assigned the first watch of the evening. The job was not that important; none of them expected any trouble. It was mostly meant to keep trespassers away, and since their group was large enough, the watch would not be long. No more than a few hours.

Hawke - not of a mind to suffer with Fenris - went to play cards with Varric and Merrill in the captain's cabin. Which was fine by Fenris. Hawke would only distract him. Although he agreed with everyone else nothing was likely to happen, he was not completely at ease in the capital of a land that was basically ruled by a guild of assassins. The Chantry would not hire the Crows to deal with Hawke... or would they? Much could happen behind the scenes, unbeknownst to the Divine or even a Grand Cleric. Petrice had proven that much.

Fenris shook his head. It was no good to make himself more nervous without reason. Nobody knew where they were. And perhaps no one was even looking for them. Tomorrow Varric would pull some strings to gather news and they would know for certain whether their escape had been successful or unnecessary.

Preparing himself for a few hours in quiet contemplation, Fenris positioned himself against the main mast, his sword right next to him. The sun had set, but the air remained warm. While Ferelden and the Free Marches started to grow cold by this time of the year, intense summer heat had just retreated from Antiva, leaving a more pleasant temperature in its wake. Fenris listened to the splashing of the ocean against the ship and the sound of waves on a beach farther away while he watched the sky darken. It was almost as if whispers could be heard in the soft noises of the water. Words, barely heard, their meaning unclear. It had a peaceful, relaxing effect.

Fenris shifted his weight a little and adjusted his position against the mast. It was quickly darkening now. He could not see farther than a few meters past his lantern. He had to rely more on his ears; anyone approaching would be heard long before he could be seen. When he closed his eyes, the sounds of the sea and the whispers concealed in it intensified. With each soft wave, Fenris felt himself become a bit more drowsy. His head rolling to one side warned him for approaching sleep. He quickly stood upright, flexing his arms and legs to shake off the weariness. He peered into the now complete darkness. Far away, lights shone behind windows. On the streets it was quiet. Most sailors had found a tavern to spend the evening with drinking, gambling and fighting. Only the calming sound of the sea was to be heard. The lights in the distance grew smaller and faded, till darkness was all that was left. The thud with which the back of Fenris' head hit the wooden mast made him realize he had his eyes closed again. With some difficulty he forced them open. He had to stay alert.

It was odd that sleep forced itself so much on him lately. Perhaps the many years he had made due with only a few hours per night were taking their toll? Still, it was hardly late. He should have no trouble staying awake a couple of hours longer.

The sultry night air enveloped him like a warm blanket. A faint breeze caressed Fenris' face like a lover's touch. The sea whispered to him, encouraging him to let go, promising rest. Fenris' eyelids drooped once more.

_"Sleep."_

He had to sit down. Just for a moment. Give his heavy legs a little rest.

_"Rest now."_

Nobody would try to get on board during those few minutes.

_"Come. Sleep."_

No one would know. Not even Hawke.

Hawke triumphantly piled up tome after tome around him. "I have studied them all," he said cheerfully. "And I have found out how to let a demon successfully merge with you. You'll be so powerful, Fenris. Invincible!"

Fenris clenched his fists. "You will do no such thing."

The edges of the enthusiastic glimmer in Hawke's eyes turned sharp. "You will do as I say, little wolf."

The way Hawke's face was set in determination, the hunger for power in his eyes, it reminded Fenris so strongly of Danarius that he did not hesitate. He took a step forward, his markings flared up, he plunged his hand into Hawke's chest; all in one fluent movement. He felt no regret, no remorse as he withdrew his blood-covered hand. None of those weak mortal inner struggles. He felt free, an immense satisfaction, and a thirst for more...

A boot nudging his side disrupted his sleep. Fenris peeked up from under his eyelashes, his vision unfocused yet.

"What's this? Sleeping on the job?" Isabela scolded. "You're lucky you're Hawke's boyfriend, or I'd have you flogged."

Still weary, Fenris struggled to get to his feet. Shame screwed his throat shut. "I... I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Isabela folded her arms across her chest. The disapproving gesture reminded him vaguely of Aveline. "What's wrong with you? Sleeping at this hour! What are you, eight?"

Her words managed to bypass his embarrassment and reach his pride to wound it. "I said I'm sorry," he said brusquely. "Now leave it be."

"Oh, I don't think so. I'm not going to let you off that easy." Fenris' glare failed to intimidate the pirate. "We're all counting on each other here," she said. "A well-trained Crow would have slipped on board and slit your throat as soon as your chin reached your chest."

He eyed her with surprise. "Are you expecting they..."

Isabela waved his words away. "No, I'm expecting nothing of the sort. That doesn't mean you can sleep when you have to keep watch. There are always potential troublemakers. Thieves, scum. Far less dangerous than the Crows, but unwelcome on board of my ship nonetheless."

Fenris did not correct her by saying it was currently Hawke's ship. "I assure you I didn't mean for it to happen," he said remorseful. "I know what's at stake. I know..." _What's it's like to be on the run._ But how could he have fallen asleep then? If he had been unable to stay awake when it counted, he would have been recaptured within the first month of his escape. Sometimes he had been forced to continue for days without food or sleep to evade his hunters. And if he did sleep, the lightest sound would alert and wake him. Yet he had dozed off this evening, and only Isabela's boot had woken him up. Foolish. Amateurish. And then there was the dream... the nightmare. Death had always played a prominent part in his dreams. The ones in which he was forced to kill Hawke were the worst of them all. But this dream... it was the first time he had not felt awful after he had murdered Hawke in a nightmare. Instead he had experienced genuine glee. Somehow that was far more disturbing than the nightmares from which he awoke screaming and weeping.

Isabela's face softened somewhat. "So long as it was a one-time-thing," she warned.

Fenris nodded. "It won't happen again." He remembered promising Hawke the same not long ago, after his outburst. He had to watch himself in the future, regain control.

* * *

The afternoon of the next day Fenris and Hawke had permission to leave the ship and explore Antiva City. The sun seemed determined to prove she was not out of business yet, and her heat made Hawke's clothing stick to his back, soaked with sweat. Fenris - more used to a temperature like this - was not nearly as affected by it as Hawke. Whereas Hawke's light skin was already plagued by sunburn, Fenris' simply colored a deeper bronze, increasing the contrast with his markings. It was not until now that he became aware of how much lighter his skin had gotten during the years he had lived in cooler Kirkwall.

The warmth did give them purpose. On a ship the sanitary facilities were quite limited, and being able to take a bath was a scarce luxury, as washing oneself with the salt water of the ocean was not recommended. It had left them all longing for a decent opportunity to clean themselves up. Especially Hawke.

"I admit I've gotten used to a few of the perks of being a noble," he said. Heavy body odor surrounded him, a deep, manly musk. Fresh beads of sweat rolled down his temples, to cheeks the sun had marked with a permanent blush. Fenris found the smell heady and... very appealing.  Hawke was hardly the image of desirable man at the moment, with his face red, his thick mass of auburn hair hanging in damp, lifeless strands around his head, and long warm days without taking a bath. And yet Fenris would very much like to catch one of those drops of sweat on Hawke's face with his tongue. And give him reason to sweat some more. "I hope we find a public bath house soon. I smell like a cheap brothel!"

"How would you know what that smells like?" Fenris asked absent-mindedly. His eyes trailed over the staff on Hawke's back and followed it down to his ass. The thick woolen trousers accentuated the shape. Why had he not noticed that before? He felt his length swell inside his own leather leggings. He really wanted to squeeze Hawke's buttocks, part them, bury himself within...

"Fine, I smell like the Hanged Man after the crew of an entire ship got drunk there."

He wanted to _feel_... Fenris groaned through gritted teeth. This was ridiculous! It was not as if he had not seen Hawke's behind before! There was no reason he would suddenly grow so maddeningly hard, no reason for the rise of this urge within him to shove Hawke into the nearest alley and take him there.

Hawke looked to the side at the tormented sound. His hand shot up to his staff, his gaze immediately alert. "What is it?" Hawke whispered. "'Did you hear something?"

Fenris gave Hawke an odd look. "No."

Hawke relaxed. "Oh. I thought you sensed enemies nearby. Your markings are glowing. And you made a... noise."

A look down confirmed Hawke's words. In broad daylight it was less noticeable than in the dark, but the lines on his arms and even on his feet had turned blue and shimmered faintly in the sun. Fenris frowned darkly at his arms, as if they had committed some kind of offense. He had not noticed their activity. Perhaps it had something to do with his overwhelming arousal? He knew the markings lit up beyond his conscious control when things heated up with Hawke. Hawke could rarely resist to joke about it. But that required Hawke's touch. Fenris focused on the markings. After a delay of a few seconds they obeyed and calmed. The blue color disappeared.

"Your clothes are too thick," he said to Hawke, in an attempt to take his mind off the things he wanted to do. "You should wear something else than wool."

Hawke made a face. "I bought these in Amaranthine, remember? What would you expect? Temperatures like this are not allowed in Ferelden."

"It's not that hot."

"Not that hot!" Hawke sputtered. "You mean it can get even warmer here?"

"In Tevinter, people are relieved when it's this temperature outside."

Hawke shook his head. "How can they stand it. You look barely affected by it too, and you are in full armor!"

Fenris shrugged, then halted. "This looks like a bath house," he said. _Good._ He could use a cold, cold bath.

* * *

The cold bath provided only temporary relief. Once they were cleaned up, they visited the market district so that Hawke could purchase some clothes that did not count on snow being the most likely weather condition. While Hawke was browsing the wares of a merchant with an impressive black beard, Fenris looked around at the other market stalls. A great variety of goods was available. From the daily fruit, meat and vegetables to fine silks and delicate jewelry. The market square was very crowded; the stalls were squeezed together to fit in as many as possible. Customers shuffled past the merchants, who loudly complimented their own wares. Every now and then his ears picked up a whispered word in the mass of unfamiliar language.

_"Give in."_

_"Desire."_

He turned around, searching for a person who could have spoken. Nobody caught his eye. _Strange people, Antivans._

After Hawke had made his purchase - while eyeing the beard of the Antivan merchant enviously - they continued their way through narrow streets until they reached the outer skirts of the city and eventually a beach, located in a small bay. Hawke trudged to the single tree located on the edge of beach and grass and promptly collapsed in its shade.

"I'm already sweating again," he sighed. "I clearly don't have Antivan blood in me. Maybe-"

He was cut off by Fenris, who jumped on top of him and began to savor his mouth with a demanding kiss. He could not wait. He felt like he was ready to burst, his erection throbbing in need. Without much ceremony, Fenris started to pull at Hawke's trousers with his gauntleted hand. He gave Hawke a moment to catch his breath by running his tongue along his neck, tasting the salt of fresh sweat. He heard fabric tear.

"W... wait," Hawke gasped, mouth hanging open. "You... you want to do this here?"

Fenris growled in acknowledgement against Hawke's throat. He felt Hawke swallow. "There's no one here," he rumbled. "And I want you." With Hawke's trousers down to his knees, Fenris quickly tended to his own clothing. He did not bother taking off his leggings completely. He pressed down on Hawke, with his trousers remaining on his ankles.

"Turn around."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Are you in a hurry?"

Another growl. Fenris grabbed Hawke's hips and flipped him over. The sharp gauntlets dug into the skin of his hips and buttocks and left red scratches. From the deepest parts blood welled up. Hawke let out a protesting yelp, which turned into a whimper and then a breathy moan when Fenris took a fistful of Hawke's hair, pulled his head back and started suckling on his right earlobe. He was being rough - too rough, he knew - but Fenris could not help it. He could not wait. He just had to... have, had to feel... and when he pushed his pelvis down against Hawke's ass, he could feel Hawke was enjoying it by the way his back tensed.

The next step did require him to take off his gauntlets. Even through the lust that clouded all his thoughts, he realized that. At first he tried to undo the clasps of his right gauntlet with his teeth. When that did not go fast enough, he let go of Hawke's hair and undid the straps with his left hand. Hawke, whose head had been held up by the force with which Fenris was holding his hair, collapsed with his face on the sand.

"Thanks for that," he sputtered with a mouth full.

Freed from the embrace of steel, Fenris pushed a finger through the tight ring of muscles that guarded Hawke's entrance. This was what he wanted, what he needed. His eagerness ushered him on, the weight of his hardness a constant reminder of what he desired so. Hawke's body resisted the second and third finger he added, with Fenris giving him so little time to adjust. When Fenris finally buried himself within Hawke, a shudder went through the mage. His breathing had sped up and was a bit shallow, to help cope with the stretching of his nerves. Fenris was deaf to it all. All that mattered was the delicious heat that surrounded him. He was already close to his peak. His left hand, still clad in steel, reached out and got tangled into Hawke's dark hair once more. He leaned over Hawke, quickening his pace, and pressed his lips against the back of Hawke's neck. Spots danced in front of his eyes. The waves that came crashing on the beach whispered to him, reaching his ears despite his ragged breathing.

_"Take."_

_"More."_

_"Faster."_

His hips spasmed. He sunk his teeth into Hawke's neck while his orgasm made him spill himself and shattered his consciousness.

Varania tucked at Mother's skirt.

"Mommy, where's daddy?"

Mother wiped her brow and sniffed before she looked down at Varania and answered. "Daddy won't be coming back. He's serving a new master now."

"I want daddy!"

"Hush, Leto. I told you, he's not coming back. He's... he's in a better place now. Now, take this tray and bring Master his tea."

He bowed his head and took the heavy tray. "Yes, mommy."

Two other slaves were busy scrubbing a corner of the grand hall. They brought their heads closer together as Leto passed them. He subtly slowed his step when he heard them whisper.

"Isn't that Isaiah's boy?" asked the first.

"It is. Poor thing. Would he know what happened?"

"No, Selena said she doesn't want the children to know."

The other shook her head. "Can't blame her. They probably wouldn't understand."

"What's there to understand? He's been bled to death for one of those experiments. No explanation can exist for that!"

"Sshhh! You can't yell things like that!"

He turned left around the corner. The two women were out of earshot now. Tears leaked from his eyes, although he did his best to blink them away. He did not understand everything the women had said, but he had heard Father's name and instinctively Leto knew that his father was dead.

When he opened his eyes, he did not know where he was. There was sand underneath his back, the silhouette of a tree above him. Whispers of the sea in the distance.

"Fenris?"

A name. Who was Fenris? Was that supposed to be him? He was Leto.

The face of a man appeared. He looked concerned, his red forehead wrinkled, brow furrowed above his light blue eyes. A bead of sweat clung to the tip of his nose, refusing to let go. He felt the man's hand on his face and neck. A tingling heat spread from there, and with that returned the knowledge of who he was, to whom that face above him belonged. The memories of Leto dissolved simultaneously.

"Hawke?"

Hawke smiled at him. A careful smile that did not reach his worried eyes. "How do you feel? You've been unconscious for a while."

"How long?"

"Several minutes. Longer than with your usual flashbacks. You had me worried. Your eyes were turned upwards and your markings seemed to burn more brightly. I wasn't sure what to do."

Fenris wiped the hair from his brow with a shaky hand. He had to admit his was feeling light-headed. And tired. "I'm fine." He was not sure whether that was a lie or not.

"Do you know what happened?"

"I... I think it was the memories again." Already the regained knowledge had been lost, although a feeling of sadness lingered.

Hawke rubbed his chin. For a moment they were both silent. "This was a bad idea," he eventually said with a light-hearted tone. "I have sand everywhere now, and we've just been to the bath house!"

Fenris bit his lip. "I'm... I'm sorry. I don't know what has gotten into me. I know I was hurting you. I... I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

A soft squeeze in his neck. "It's okay. I mean... I _am_ a bit sore, but that'll pass. Just take it a little slower, next time. Alright?"

He nodded against Hawke's hand. With the rush of his desire gone, he felt all the more ashamed. The harder he tried to control himself, the more it seemed to slip away. He looked up to find Hawke's caring gaze on him. And he felt frightened. _Something_ was wrong. With him.

The sea sighed.

_"Give in."_


	5. Chapter 5

Two more days they remained docked in Antiva City. When they sailed away, the ship's cargo bay was filled with various goods, thanks to Isabela's old connections. It would be useful to have legitimate reason to dock in the next harbors. Plus making some coin would not hurt either. Hawke's purse had shrunk considerably the last weeks. Ships were not cheap, even small ones.

Despite Varric's report that the Chantry so far seemed determined to focus on the rebelling mages instead of Kirkwall's Champion, the mood on the ship remained tense. Everybody was occupied with their own thoughts, and apart from a few evenings of playing cards people kept to themselves. Isabela was busy being the captain of "her" ship, Merrill spent many hours in the crow's nest looking at the sky and the sea, Varric made the crew lose a lot of money and made up for it by telling wild stories, and Aveline and Donnic were often together in their quarters, probably discussing their plans for the future. Fenris tried to reign himself in, with limited success. Strange urges continued to beat against the bonds of his restraint, encouraged by whispers hidden in the waves of the ocean, the wind, and the conversations of groups. The question whether he was going - or already had gone - insane became increasingly pressing. In his distress he sought out quiet spots on board of the ship and kept to himself.

The only exception to the withdrawn behavior of the group was Hawke. He made sure to chat up with all his companions regularly. With the news that the Chantry was occupied with the Circle mages of Kirkwall, Hawke had become more relaxed. The chance that they would be hunted by angry templars seemed very slim now, and Hawke had decided he was free to enjoy the journey. Thanks to the calm weather his seasickness diminished as well, which further improved his mood. His sunburned face was a minor discomfort as far as he was concerned.

Fenris had just fallen back to an old strategy - drowning out any cursed doubts and whispers with alcohol - when Hawke tracked him down in the cargo hold.

"Why are you sitting here?"

Fenris took a few gulps from the already half-empty bottle of rum. It tasted even worse than the Hanged Man's ale, but Isabela insisted this was what sailors drank. The finest Antivan brandy was on board, but that was meant for trade. All the crew and passengers got was rum. So he drank rum.

He stared at the bottle for a few seconds before he remembered Hawke had asked him something. "Just... wanted some quiet."

He had not spoken to Hawke about his troubles. "I'm hearing voices" was not an announcement he was looking forward to. _And maybe it'll pass. Perhaps it's just the... air._

"Drinking on your own, huh?" Hawke sat down next to him. "Let me have a taste."

Fenris tried to hand Hawke the bottle, but instead Hawke pressed his lips against Fenris' mouth and kissed him, resulting in Fenris pushing the rum bottle uselessly against Hawke's chest.

"You're not hiding from me, are you?" Hawke mumbled against Fenris' lips.

"I am not."

_"Liar."_

_"You're a liar, Fenris."_

Judged by the feeling of Hawke's teeth against his mouth, he was smiling. "Good." Another soft kiss. "You know... I have fully recovered." A chuckle vibrated in his broad chest. Fenris felt it against the glass bottle he was still pressing against it.

It was obvious what Hawke was suggesting, and it was exactly why Fenris had been trying to keep to himself. After the way he had lost control on the beach, he was reluctant to let himself go. He hated how he had treated Hawke, that he had even hurt him without given it a second thought. Their lovemaking had been wild and a bit rough before, especially the first time after their reunion, but... that last time had been different. He had been unable to think of anything but his own lust, giving zero thought to the man he was with. That was not something he wanted, not someone he wanted to be. Inflicting pain and killing had been his sole purpose for far too long. He wanted to leave that behind. 

But Hawke's remark and deepening kiss were enough to spark his arousal, and with that his doubts were forced to the background. He leaned forward, reaching with his free hand for the hair at the back of Hawke's head. Rum flowed out of the bottle  and over Hawke's shirt as Fenris pushed him further back.

Hawke groaned and pulled away. "Woah, have you made it your life's purpose to ruin all my clothes? First my favorite robe, then you summon demons to burn my pants, a few days ago you tore my other pants, and now you spill rum on my shirt!"

"I _didn't_ summon demons."

"You did throw the book into the fire."

"I... if you have come here just to scold me, I advise you to leave. I am in no mood for your arguments."

Hawke got to his feet. "As much as I enjoy arguing with you, it's not why I came down here. Don't look so angry, you'll get wrinkles. Now, you _technically_ didn't summon any demons, so forget my poor choice of words and let's go."

Deciding to ignore the "technically" part, Fenris took Hawke's outstretched hand and stood up too. "Go where?"

"To our cabin, of course. You weren't planning on doing it here, were you?"

_"Want."_

Fenris cleared his throat. He actually was already past caring about their location. Desire demanded fulfillment, the sooner the better. Inwardly he reprimanded himself.

_Restrain yourself. Be strong._

_"That would be no fun."_

_"Take."_

_Shut up._

He followed Hawke up the narrow ladder. Their cabin was not far, and as soon as Fenris had kicked the door shut behind them, Hawke's arms were around him.

"You do owe me a new outfit," Hawke said while he pulled his tunic over his head.

Fenris snorted. He started unbuttoning his own clothes. His progress was a bit slow due to the amount of drink he had consumed. Hawke was already lying on the bed, waiting for him, when he was finally undressed. Fenris immediately accepted the invitation and sat down on top of Hawke, straddling his hips. He let his hands run through the fine layer of hair that covered the man's chest. Underneath his buttocks he felt Hawke become hard. He smiled to himself. He was in charge now. Hawke wanted him. He would determine when and how Hawke received satisfaction. He could make him moan and sigh and ask for more. He could let him reach that amazing high. Fenris closed his eyes.

Hawke's heart started beating a little faster underneath Fenris' hands. The rhythm was steady and secure. Just as he could control Hawke's arousal, he could reach this pulsating center, the source of his life. He could feel it around him. Hawke was lying under him, breathing heavily, at Fenris' mercy. He could decide... He was in power. Hawke's heart was his. He had bared it to Fenris, and Fenris could take it if he wanted to.

_"Do it."_

This was Hawke's core, where his feelings resided. This silly little heart which, for reasons that would always remain a mystery, had decided it belonged to Fenris. How vulnerable the source of life was, even that of a strong man. He could feel the pulse, feel it speeding up.

_"Kill."_

Hawke's voice suddenly disrupted his fevered thoughts. "Fenris... what are you doing?" Something about Hawke's voice made Fenris open his eyes. The words had sounded oddly strained, as if spoken in fear or pain. Fenris' eyes met Hawke's. Hawke's face was cast in a blue light that made him look pale despite the rosy color of his cheeks. His eyes were wide, unblinking, his mouth hanging open a little. For a few heartbeats they stared at each other, while the light blue of Hawke's eyes became glassy as tears welled up in them.

A feeling of unrest rose up in Fenris' stomach. Slowly he let his gaze drift lower. Over Hawke's stubbled jaw, his neck with the Adam's apple that moved as Hawke swallowed heavily, to the lighter skin of his chest, which was still, as if Hawke did not dare to breathe. Then Fenris' eyes reached the center of Hawke's chest. It took a moment before he realized what he was seeing and that his eyes were not deceiving him. His own arm, shimmering a ghostly blue, was sticking through Hawke's sternum. He could not see his hand.

The sight nearly made him lose control of his markings, but solidifying now would certainly be fatal for Hawke. Against his barely existing fingers he could feel Hawke's heart beating. Shifting back to a normal, physical state would tear a hole in Hawke's chest. With the greatest effort Fenris maintained his phasing.

His eyes shot back up to Hawke's face. Hawke's gaze was still fixated on Fenris. Beads of sweat formed at his temples and rolled down his face. He did not speak again but just lay there, very still. Fenris focused on his arm. Slowly, very slowly he began to retract his hand from Hawke's chest. He was trembling with the effort it took to concentrate. Every second he feared the tension would become too much and he would fail. Simply pulling away in one fluid motion would of course have taken less time and would have solved the problem a lot sooner, but he was so focused on doing it carefully that the idea did not even occur to him.

Finally his fingers came in sight. When the tip of his middle finger had been retracted at last, Fenris let out a scream that was echoed inside his head by the frustrated voices that disapproved of his action. He pressed his hands against his ears and jumped off the bed, rolled into a ball on the wooden floor and cried.

This... Nothing could be worse than this. His worst nightmare had come true. Almost. Without even being aware of it! He had been so close to... if Hawke had not spoken at the time he had... The full horror of what he had been about to do crashed down on him. Fenris could barely contain the consequences of it. In that short moment of drifting attention, his whole world had collapsed. He had very nearly killed Hawke. What was worse, it had not even taken an order from Danarius, or an antagonizing action from Hawke to drive him to it. It had been him. Just him. The nightmares had been merciful in their portrayal. In the end he himself was the monster. Meant to kill. Meant to destroy the only good thing his life had ever known.

He had been right to leave that night three years ago. His fears had been justified. Pain and death was all he had to offer. Selfishness had made him give in to his feelings for Hawke. And now Hawke paid the price.

Hawke started coughing violently as soon as Fenris removed his hand. Clutching his chest, he took wheezing breaths. On the stairs and in the hall resounded heavy footsteps. A second later the door was being kicked open and Isabela stormed inside, daggers ready in both hands, followed by Varric, a bolt on his crossbow, and Merrill, Aveline and Donnic, all with weapons in hand. In the middle of the room they halted, looking for the fight they were anticipating. Instead they found a naked Hawke choking on the bed and Fenris - also naked - sobbing on the floor. The light of his markings pulsated in the rhythm of his sobs.

For a while the group stood dumb-struck. None of them was sure what to make of the situation. Isabela was the first to recover. Sheathing her daggers, she asked what seemed the only logical question: "Are you alright?"

Hawke pushed himself up, one hand still pressed against his chest. "I'm... I'm fine."

Fenris raised his head a little. "You're not fine!" he screamed through his tears. "I almost killed you!"

"What?!" Aveline took two large steps toward Fenris. One hand descended upon his shoulder and jerked him upwards.

"Don't touch him!" Hawke got unsteadily to his feet. A moment later he was kneeling next to Fenris, who had pressed his head against the floor again, hands covering his ears to shut out the noise. Noise that could not be shut out, because the whispers did not need his ears to get through to him.

Reluctantly, Aveline let go. Fenris felt her hand being replaced by Hawke's. He shrugged him off.

"No, Hawke! I... I... Stay away from me!"

The day Hawke would listen was the day the sun would stop rising and setting. "What's going on, Fenris?" he pressed. "What's wrong?" His voice croaked and sounded hoarse. The words were followed by a few coughs, but they were less frantic than before.

He had to wait a while for the answer. Fenris continued to shake from his sobs, but eventually he collected the last remains of the iron will he used to rely on. He knew what had to be done. He had proven to be weak and unworthy. His life had just come to an end. He lifted his head to look at Hawke, but the sight nearly made him break down again. Blood dripped from Hawke's bottom lip and the corners of his mouth. In the middle of his chest, a few inches above the scar on his abdomen where the Arishok had run him through with one of his blades, the skin was a mix of blue, purple and black hues, with the darkest colors at the center and gradually getting lighter towards the edges. With the tendrils on the outside, it reminded Fenris of the entropy clouds he had seen Merrill cast. He drew a shaky breath and forced himself to look at what he had done.

"I... I didn't mean to... I didn't want to..." Looking at that awful, accusing mark he had put there was too much. His crime was too grave. New tears rolled down his cheeks when he spoke again, with lowered head and eyes on the floor. "They told me to kill you," he whispered. "I did not realize what was happening."

A ripple of unrest went through the people in the room. He could sense it in the way Isabela shifted her weight, how Aveline inhaled sharply through her nose, how Donnic's fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

Hawke did not even lean away from him. "They? Who are "they"?"

Fenris knew the answer. How it could possibly be so, he did not know. It _should_ not be possible. But he had recognized the whispers. He had heard a similar voice before, one time, the only other time he had betrayed Hawke and had turned on him. A subtle voice in his ears and in his head, painting images in his mind, images of the promise of power. He had hoped he would never have to face such evil again, but here it was. They had found him.

He squeezed his eyes shut while he replied. "Demons."

Unrest turned to disbelief, as he had known it would. Clothes rustled, armor screeched, soft mumbles sounded behind him. He could easily imagine the looks that were exchanged in addition to these mumblings.

"Demons," Hawke echoed. "But..."

Fenris' head snapped back up. "You do not need to tell me it is impossible, Hawke," he growled. "I hear them. They... they whisper to me. They tempted me... _tricked_ me into killing you."

"Could he be like Kelder?" Aveline suggested.

Hawke gave her a hard look. "No," he said defiantly. "Kelder was insane. Fenris is _not_ insane. If he says it's demons, I believe him."

"But how...? He doesn't have magic," Merrill said.

"It's got to have something do to with the markings." Hawke looked back at Fenris. "How long have you been hearing them? And why didn't you tell me?"

"At first it was hardly noticeable... I was uncertain whether I had actually heard something or that it was just the sea. I hoped it would pass. But it has been getting worse lately. They whisper to me, get in my head, mess with my mind... Hawke, you... you have to kill me. They won't stop. I don't want to hurt you, but I... I nearly..."

For the first time shock was written on Hawke's face. "Kill you? Don't be ridiculous!"

Fenris yanked at his hair in frustration. "Why don't you ever _listen_ to me?! I am a threat. To you, and to everybody else. What if I do crush your heart next time? What if..." His eyes widened in terror. "What if I do have a demon inside me already? I'm an abomination! Those templars were possessed, so it has to be possible..."

"I do listen! Just not when you're talking nonsense, which you're doing now. Nobody is going to die today, okay? I'm still alive, my heart is beating perfectly fine, nothing happened. So stop dramatizing this and calm down for a moment."

"Something did happen, and it's not fine!" Fenris snapped. He stretched out a finger and poked Hawke on the chest, so forcefully that Hawke fell back on his ass. " _That_ is not bloody fine!" Aveline's hand immediately returned to his shoulder, her grip strong and without mercy.

"I said not to touch him," Hawke warned her coldly. Her hand was removed once more, albeit with even more reluctance than before. "I _am_ fine, Fenris. Look, it's already fading."

He was right. The darkest colors were gone, and the tendrils around the edges seemed to have withdrawn somewhat. It was starting to look more like a regular bruise.

Fenris looked up at Hawke's face. "You've healed yourself," he said accusingly.

"I assure you I have not. It's not as bad as it looked. The pain is gone too."

"It's still too much." Fenris clenched his jaw, all his muscles tensed in determination. "If you won't do it, I'll tear out my own heart." While he said it, he activated his markings, which had been lighting up at random during the conversation.

"No!" Before Fenris had had the chance to even raise his arm, Hawke had launched himself at him and knocked him over. He landed heavily on his back, with Hawke on top of him, covering most of Fenris' chest. As if his body somehow would provide a barrier against Fenris' hand.

Hawke's face was so close that Fenris felt his breath on his lips when he spoke. "If you do that I swear I will put it back in to heal it and drag you back from the Void itself," he hissed. "Do you remember your experience in the Fade?"

"Of course I remember!" Fenris spat. "That's why I-"

"You promised me you had learned your lesson back then. You said it would never happen again."

Fenris tried to turn his head away, but Hawke dug his fingers in Fenris' cheeks and held him still. "I know, and I failed you again."

"No. You can still keep your promise. Unless your word to me means as little as your promise to Hadriana."

The image of Hadriana lying before him, helpless and defeated, flashed before Fenris' eyes. Furious he looked at Hawke. "You dare to compare-"

"No, shut up and listen to me! First: you're not possessed. You hear me? An abomination would not rip out its own heart. Any demon controlling you would never have allowed that to happen. Second: Tarohne was actively summoning demons to posses the recruits. You cannot become an abomination without magic that allows the demon to escape from the Fade. With mages it is a bit different, because the demon can utilize the mage's magic when the mage allows it. But you are not a mage, so you can't do that. And third: even if they could take possession of you without further aid of magic, they still can't do it against your will. You're strong. You can resist them. You know they try to tempt you with lies. Remember they cannot give you what you want, that they don't care about you; they are only interested in their own desires. _You_ are what _they_ want and need, not the other way around. Don't give in to them, and you'll be fine. I can help you learn how to resist them. You're a quick learner; your reading and writing skills progressed so well. This will be just another lesson, another trick to learn. You're not going to hurt me, or anybody else. Because you don't want to, and they can't make you. Nobody is going to die. You're going to die of old age, after many years filled with wonderful, happy things. Your hair may be white, but you're not old by a long shot yet, so leave your heart where it's supposed to be. You're not alone. I love you, and I will not let you die."

Fenris blinked. "You... you what?"

On top of him, Hawke frowned in response. "What what? That your hair is white? I know you're not the vain type, but surely you must have passed a mirror at some point in your life..."

"No." Fenris licked his lips. "You said that... that you love me."

"Oh, that." Hawke relaxed visibly. " _That's_ what you picked up from my whole speech? Why do you look so surprised? Have I not said it before? I thought it was pretty obvious."

"It _was_ pretty obvious," Isabela interjected.

"Shut up, Isabela," Hawke and Fenris replied simultaneously.

She scoffed. "Very well. Sorry for disrupting... I'm not sure what this is."

"They're just words, Fenris. Don't tell me you are one of those people who make saying the word "love" the most important thing in the world. There are better ways to express it. Besides, I haven't heard _you_ use that specific word either. That doesn't mean I doubt your sincerity."

Hawke's grip on Fenris' face had ceased somewhat, so it was easier to look away now. Of course Fenris knew Hawke cared deeply about him. After three years of running away Hawke had still been there when he had returned. That in itself was convincing enough. And yet hearing him speak those three simple words moved something in Fenris. Perhaps it was the situation in which they had been spoken. Who would say they loved the person who had had his hand inside their chest moments earlier? Fenris had to be not the only person in this room whose sanity could be questioned. As for why he himself had not used the word "love" before... he had no explicit answer. Perhaps it was as Hawke said, that it was only another word and other ways existed to show you cared about someone. Maker knew he had trouble with those other ways as well.

_"Give in, Fenris."_

_"Listen to us."_

He did not want to lose this. He did not want to die. But living meant continuously fighting those cursed whispers. He had been fighting for so long already. And he had tried to fight the voices, and it had had little effect. They had brought him on the verge of murdering Hawke with ease. What hope was there then that he could resist? If only he was not so tired all the time... It might be easier. Fighting was difficult enough without having little energy left for it. Fenris allowed himself to look Hawke in the eyes. Hawke believed in him. And he had given Hawke his word. Killing Hadriana was not something he regretted. Doing it after he had given his word was. Part of being a free man was that your word meant something. With freedom came the obligation to keep your promises.

All those years striving for freedom would be meaningless if he just gave up now. Danarius had been dead for no more than a few months yet. His free life had just begun.

_To kill oneself is a sin in the eye of the Maker._

Perhaps he could still make up for his sins, instead of committing a new one. And he did have more that was worth fighting than ever.

"I love you too."

Hawke gave him what looked like a relieved smile. "I know that, you stubborn oaf." He let go of Fenris' face completely. "Does this mean your heart will remain where it is?"

Fenris nodded.

"Should we clap?" Isabela whispered, loud enough for everybody to hear.

"I'm not sure I want to applaud for this," Aveline responded.

Hawke's smile broadened. He ignored Aveline and Isabela. "Good. Resist them. Don't give them what they want. Be strong, and they will not have you." He looked up, over Fenris' head, to Aveline. "They will not have him."

A little confused Fenris tried to turn his head so that he could see Aveline's face, but from his position on the ground he could not get a clear view. He thought he saw her giving a nod. Hawke's words clearly had a special meaning, but he did not understand it. It was something between Hawke and Aveline.

"You're still naked," Isabela reminded them after a short silence.

"Right." Hawke pushed himself up, relieving Fenris of the extra weight on his chest. "Well, I guess everybody has seen everything by now, but-"

"Hmhm."

Hawke shifted on the floor to make sure his private parts were hidden from Isabela's observant gaze. "... but I suggest Fenris and I get dressed before we meet again. We obviously have some things to discuss, so I will see you all in Isabela's cabin within an hour to make plans."

Everybody nodded, and one by one they left the room. Only Aveline lingered.

"Do you want someone to stand guard, Hawke?" she asked.

Hawke gave her an icy look, his irises the color of frozen water. "Why? Are you expecting an attack?"

Aveline glanced at Fenris, who had reverted back to his rolled up pose, hands between his legs and head lowered. Apparently Aveline did not dare to speak a direct accusation but she did not leave either.

"I'm alright, Aveline," Hawke eventually said. "All is under control, and everything will be fine. We'll fix it. It's _fine_."

His expression made it clear disagreement would not be tolerated. After a few seconds Aveline gave in and left the room, softly closing the door behind her.

_You're an even bigger liar than I am, Damian._


	6. Chapter 6

Fenris stayed on the ground when Aveline had left. He held his head down, his arms resting on his legs, the palms of his hands turned upward. He stared at the lines that crossed those palms and travelled to their own respective finger. The hands of a murderer. The phasing had left no blood on his skin. No evidence was left on him. Only those lines, pulsating accusingly.

He was shaking. He could not stop it. He could not stop the pulsating of his markings, and he could not stop trembling. He felt nauseated; a foul taste was clinging to the back of his tongue. The influence of the rum had disappeared. Apparently trying to kill Hawke had a very sobering effect.

Kill Hawke.

Fenris clenched his hands into fists and pressed them down hard on his upper legs. He should be dead. He should not have let Hawke convince him. Demons had found a way into his head with their despicable whispers and he had hardly noticed it until it was almost too late. How could he fight something that seemed to be part of his own mind?

Two warm hands descended upon his hunched shoulders and tried to pull him up.

"Come on," Hawke whispered. "Let's get you off the cold floor." Fenris did not resist the gentle pull. Awkwardly he got to his feet and allowed Hawke to guide him to the bed. His eyes shot up to Hawke's chest. The discoloring was reduced to half its original size. Soon this last evidence of his crime would have faded too.

Hawke sat down next to him. "You should have said something," he said. "You should know by now you don't have to keep everything to yourself. You can talk to me."

Fenris' nostrils flared at those condescending words. "I'm sorry that I did not immediately announced the degradation of my mind," he snapped.

"You said you're hearing demons. That has nothing to do with being crazy."

Fenris turned his head to look at Hawke. "Is that so? You barely believed me yourself when I told you."

"I do believe you." Hawke scratched his chin. "It's just..."

"It's just that I shouldn't be hearing them. I know!"

"You're sane, Fenris. Amazing as it is after everything you've experienced, you're sane. I'm sure of that. So that means demons have found a way to contact you. Are you hearing them now?"

_"Fenriiiiiis."_

"No."

Hawke sighed. "What did I just say? Be honest with me. You can't do this on your own; we've just seen what happens when you try that."

Fenris' eyes dropped, once more trailing over Hawke's chest before they fixated on his own hands.

"I'll get you something to drink first," Hawke offered after a moment of silence. He got up from the bed to fetch a jug of water and an empty mug. After pouring some water in it, he handed the mug to Fenris.

Fenris tried to take a sip, but his hands were still shaking. He spilled water as he brought the mug to his mouth and choked on what little he got over his lips. Hawke took the mug from his hands while he coughed and stroked Fenris' back. Fenris could feel subtle sparks of Hawke's healing magic leave his hand, in search of something that could be healed.

"S... stop that," he croaked. "I'm neither ill nor injured. I don't need healing."

The flow of magic ceased. Hawke drew back his hand. When Fenris' breathing had become even again, he took the mug from Hawke and downed its content more successfully. He kept his gaze carefully focused on his hands.

A feminine laugh was the only sound that cut through the pressing silence, and he knew the laughter resounded only in his own head. He tightened the grip on the mug.

The shift in the mattress indicated Hawke stood up again. The following moment a tunic and trousers were tossed into his arms. Fenris looked up.

Hawke was pulling up his own pants. Fenris was relieved when a shirt hid the mark of death on Hawke's torso. He exhaled slowly without realizing it.

Without a word he followed Hawke's example and started to get dressed, very aware of Hawke watching him while he did so. He dressed slowly, keeping his eyes on what his fingers were doing. Partly because he did not trust his limbs to obey him when he tried to move faster, and partly because he did not want to look at Hawke and continue their conversation. Eventually he had to admit he had fastened every belt and that no button had been left loose. Fenris sank back on the bed. When he looked at his hands again, he finally found the markings passive. No blue flashes anymore.

"Okay, let's try it differently." Hawke flopped down beside him. "How long have you been hearing them?"

"I don't know... no longer than a few weeks."

"How many are there? Can you identify different ones?"

A frown appeared in Fenris' forehead as he thought about this. "I... no, I can't. I know there's more than one. There are different voices... high, low, male, female, human, unworldly..."

"Any idea which types they are? What do they encourage in you?"

"Rage. I think Sloth too." Fenris drew a deep breath. "Pride." He bit his lip, turned his head further away. "D...desire." He wondered if Hawke could connect the dots, whether he realized which actions had been influenced by demons. He feared Hawke would link his mention of desire to their afternoon on the beach near Antiva City. If Hawke knew a demon had made Fenris fuck him like that... the whole event had been embarrassing enough already. He did not want this added to it. But Hawke was not stupid. He had known something was going on, just like Fenris had. He would see the connection.

But even if he did, Hawke made no mention of it. When Fenris risked a quick glance his way, he saw that Hawke was lost in thought. His face shielded whatever he was feeling or thinking. Fenris recognized the mask he himself often hid behind. He would hide now, but he was too tired, too wrecked to hide the despair he was feeling. He could not hide from what he had done.

After a while Hawke's eyes staring at a point somewhere behind Fenris turned more focused. He rubbed his chin and looked at Fenris. "We have some time before we have to go see the others," he said. "I guess we might as well use it. The sooner you learn to be aware of when a demon is trying to influence you, the better. I'm just... trying to think of the best way to do this."

"How do you live with this?"Fenris suddenly asked.

Hawke blinked, his hand paused under his chin in the middle of a scratching movement. "With what?"

"Those demons whispering to you every day. How can you stand to hear them every waking hour?"

The scratching began again. "You... uh... you get used to it," Hawke replied vaguely. Fenris wanted to say something else, but Hawke cut him off as soon as he opened his mouth. "Alright. We'll just get started. Close your eyes. Yes, don't look at me so incredulously, it's not that weird. You do it all the time at night. So, close your eyes... good. Relax. Let go of your thoughts, your worries. Release all of that, and find your center of peace. That place inside you where-"

Fenris opened his eyes. "Find my what?"

"Well, your... your core. That part inside you where you feel your power, some kind of life force. When I relax and focus, I can sense my magic inside me. Don't other people have that?"

Growling, Fenris rolled his eyes. "Bah, spare me your mage nonsense! Do you take me for one of your kind now that I hear a demon's call? I am still no mage!"

"Fine, fine. Just close your eyes again and try to relax."

"Do you even know what you're doing?"

"Oh, just work with me!" Hawke said, irritated. "The point is that you learn to separate your own thoughts and feelings from demons' play. The best way to learn that, is to get to know yourself."

"I already know myself."

Hawke's gaze was sharp. "Apparently not well enough."

Fenris glared at the mage before he inhaled sharply and closed his eyes again.

_This is ridiculous._

_"Very."_

He tried to follow Hawke's instructions, but he had no idea how to "let go" of everything. How could he after what had happened so recently? His mind was still a whirlwind spreading terror. The only thing this achieved was making him sleepy. He would really like to lie down, so he could drift away into blissful oblivion. Perhaps the demons would not be able to follow him there. He just wanted to be left alone. He wanted to forget all this had ever happened.

_"Sleep."_

His head sagged.

This was what they wanted. This was a demon toying with him again. He would not give in. He would resist. But he was so tired... How could a demon make him feel that way? Were they even able to influence what his body needed? Could they demand him to sleep or eat? How could he know whether he was actually tired or that it was a demon messing with him?

Fenris forced his eyes open. "I'm sorry," he said to Hawke. "I... can't focus right now. Perhaps we should meet the others."

Hawke looked not very enthusiastic about the postponement but he nodded his consent nevertheless. "I can imagine. We'll try again tomorrow. We shouldn't delay this, but it's not likely that much will progress will be made tonight." He sighed. "Okay, let's go. The others have probably gathered already anyway." 

* * *

They made their way to Isabela's cabin in silence. When they arrived, they indeed found everybody waiting for them. Merrill, Varric, Aveline, Donnic and Isabela were standing in a circle. All eyes went to Hawke and Fenris when they entered. Fenris closed the door behind him, while Hawke immediately walked toward the middle of the small space and started pacing.

"Alright everybody," he began. "I think we all know our plans have changed. We can no longer continue to roam at sea. We have to find a solution for Fenris' problem first." Fenris tried to keep calm while everybody stared at him. He did not dare to meet anybody's gaze. "Problem" was an understatement, and they all knew it.

"The markings can be the only thing causing this," Hawke continued. "So we'll have to find people who know a lot about lyrium. Going to a Circle and ask for help there seems like a good place to start. The Circle in Ferelden would probably be best..."

Varric coughed discretely. "I... ah... think the Circle is not much of an option, Hawke."

Hawke made dismissive gesture. "I know they'll likely sense my magic. I thought one or two of you could accompany Fenris. It shouldn't take long, and I'll just wait-"

"No, I mean that _nobody_ gets into a Circle right now. They've all been sealed off."

Hawke stopped dead in his tracks and turned to Varric. "Sealed off? What are you talking about?"

Varric appeared a bit nervous - an unusual state for the smooth-talking dwarf. "Apparently several rebellions have broken out. The templars have taken precautions."

"In Kirkwall, you mean."

"Not just in Kirkwall. After our little... uprising, the chaos has spread. The mages in other Circles have made their objections known and tried to overthrow the templars. In an attempt to keep the news from spreading further, all Circles are cut off from the rest of the world for the time being. Nobody is allowed in or out. The Chantry hopes the rest of the mages won't hear about the rebellions and remains submissive."

"Why," Hawke said in a low, dangerous voice, "wasn't I told? You went out to hear the news in Antiva, and when you got back you told me that the templars were still occupied in Kirkwall and that the Chantry had decided to focus on the mages there and leave us alone. You didn't say a word about the rebellion spreading to other cities!"

Varric had to put his head in his neck to look at Hawke, who was now towering above him. Despite the threatening sight, the dwarf did not appear to be intimidated.

"Why wasn't I told?" Hawke repeated, carefully pronouncing every word to accentuate his seriousness.

Varric's eyes went to the left. Hawke followed his gaze, then took a step toward Aveline. "Why?" he demanded once more.

"We... I thought it better not to worry you. It seemed not that important at the time."

"Not that important?! Fenris needs help!"

She remained calm, despite Hawke's obvious anger. "We didn't know that then."

Hawke grumbled and started pacing again. "Alright, no Circle. What else? Who else knows about lyrium besides mages?" He rubbed his face while he thought about it, his thumb on one cheek, the remaining fingers on the other. "Dwarves mine it and... yes! That's it!" He jumped and quickly turned to Fenris. "Sandal called you an enchantment before we left, didn't he?"

Fenris made a face. "Sandal calls everything an enchantment."

"I don't recall him ever calling me an enchantment. And he really seemed fascinated by your markings... Who knows, perhaps he can help with getting them back under control!"

"I am not an enchantment."

Hawke's eyes went over the lines on Fenris' neck and arms. "We actually have no idea what your markings are and how they work. Maybe they do function like an enchantment. Either way it can't hurt to find Sandal and ask him." His face turned more somber. "Finding him will be the hard part. Bodahn will have left Kirkwall weeks ago. He said he wanted to go to Orlais. How do you find two dwarves in a country like that?"

Varric cleared his throat.

Hawke looked over his shoulder. Fenris saw the suspicion creep on his face. "Yes, Varric?"

"There might be something else that would make going to Orlais more difficult."

Slowly, Hawke turned around. "Do tell."

Varric glanced at Aveline. It did not escape Hawke's attention. "Varric." The warning was obvious.

Reluctantly the dwarf spoke. "Although it is true that the Chantry has shown no interest in pursuing us, there is a... bounty on your head. Apparently Starkhaven presses the Chantry to take action against you and put you to justice."

Hawke's shoulders slumped a bit. "Starkhaven? But..."

Varric nodded. "Yep. It appears Choir Boy is living up to his promise. According to the rumors he holds you responsible for what happened in Kirkwall. He uses his influence to convince the Chantry that you and Blondie are the leaders of the rebellions. The fact that disobedient mages cry out your name during their uprising supports that claim. As long as the Chantry doesn't take action, Starkhaven itself has placed a considerable bounty on your head and is hiring mercenaries. It won't be long until the Divine will budge and give in to the demands to punish the heretic that wants to bring down the Chantry and free all mages."

"What?! That's... that's preposterous. I never wanted to get involved in Anders' plan! He lied to me. And a heretic... Sebastian really is being dramatic."

Varric shrugged. "You did spare Blondie," he reminded Hawke. "And you've made no secret of not believing in the Maker."

"If Sebastian wanted to kill Anders, I would not have stopped him! It just was not fair to ask it of me. I still have my brother thanks to Anders. I owed him. Sebastian must understand that. And refusing to believe in that stuck-up higher being is hardly the same as wanting to bring down the Chantry!"

"We're not the ones you should be saying that to."

The atmosphere in the room felt like a thunderstorm was about to break loose. The air made Fenris' skin prickle.

Hawke stepped closer to Varric and Aveline. "Why did you decide to keep this from me?" he asked with a voice shaking from barely contained anger. He looked at Aveline when he spoke.

"She meant well, Hawke..." Isabela tried.

Eyes shooting ice spikes were directed at the pirate. "So you knew too," Hawke said softly. "I thought so."

"I thought you had been through enough," Aveline said. "This was my decision, Hawke. I convinced Varric and Isabela to stay quiet and not inform you about the unrest in Thedas."

The storm that had been looming over them was unleashed as Hawke lost his self-control. "You don't get to decide that!" he yelled in Aveline's face. "You have no say in what I can and can't handle. I've been through enough, indeed! I can handle this. Did I turn into the retarded member of the group while I wasn't looking?! I never asked any of you to follow me and obey my orders, but as long as you are here with me, I expect you to be honest. I have **never** lied to you. Never! I thought that I could trust you, but obviously I was wrong."

"You _can_ trust us." Judged by the look on Aveline's face, she had not anticipated Hawke would be this furious. "I..."

"No." Hawke turned away from her. "I don't want to hear it. I know enough." He took a few steps to the centre of the cabin, then turned on his heels. "Varric, any idea when the Chantry will follow Sebastian's example?"

"Difficult to say. Not long. My guess is within a month. Might take longer, though."

Hawke's hand went to his chin. "That is likely not enough time to find Sandal. Being in the country that is the seat of the Divine when the Chantry declares me an enemy would be extremely risky... It is just about me, right?"

"You and Blondie, as far as I heard. No word on any of us."

Hawke nodded, then sighed. "Alright. I'm afraid there is no other option." He took a deep breath. "We have to go to Tevinter."

Hawke's words were followed by a shocked silence. Fenris could hardly believe his ears. He would protest, but his mind could not grasp the foolishness of this idea. Memories of his life in Tevinter flooded him, leaving him numb with fear.

Aveline was the first to react. "Hawke, no."

Hawke wheeled around. "Not a word from you! Don't worry, you don't have to accompany me. If I go to the Tevinter Imperium, I only want people with me I can trust. It will be just me and Fenris."

"It's too dangerous."

"Perhaps. But it seems I have no choice. The White Divine has no authority in the Imperium and Sebastian certainly won't follow me there. Fenris' markings have been created by a magister. If there are answers to be found on how to stabilize them, it will be in Tevinter."

"You can't-"

"I can and I will!"

Finally Fenris found his voice. "I'm not going back," he said hoarsely.

Hawke gave him an impassive look. "I wasn't asking."

"Whether you ask me or not, I'm not going!" He grabbed the doorknob to get away from Hawke and his crazy plan, but Hawke did not let him go. When Fenris pulled at the door, it stayed firmly closed.

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere now! You were about to pluck my heart from my chest and it bloody hurt; you don't get to walk away from that. I don't want it to happen again, so we're going to fix this and therefore we're going to Tevinter."

With one hand still on the doorknob, Fenris turned back. "You just told me you could help me solve this with no mention of the Imperium!"

"I said I could help you understand when a demon is trying to influence you and to resist it. I can't make them go away. You didn't seem eager to hear them the rest of your life, so we need to do something about it. Besides, the demons are not the only problem, are they?"

Fenris leaned against the door. His knees had gone weak. Irrational panic pushed out all coherent thoughts. Only the knowledge that he would have to return to the place that had him live the life of a dog remained and beat down on him. He could think of nothing else. The panic screwed his throat shut. He was unable to answer Hawke.

Hawke came closer. "Your markings were active when we walked through Antiva City, but there was no reason for their activity. You hadn't even noticed it. They're becoming difficult to control, aren't they?"

Fenris swallowed. He felt the markings pulsating again, as if to prove Hawke's words. He could still not speak. Breathing alone was an accomplishment. He stared at Hawke with wide eyes.

"We will fix this, Fenris," Hawke said reassuringly.

"I don't want to go back," he whispered in a thin voice.

"Danarius is dead. You will still be free man. And you won't be alone. I will be with you."

"Oh, yes, a mage for company in the Imperium. Very reassuring," he sneered.

Nothing about Hawke betrayed his feelings on this remark. His face was still set in determination. Fenris' fear increased further. "I... I can't go back. Don't make me go back, Damian."

"It's our best chance to find help for your markings."

"Help? There is no aid to be found in Tevinter! Danarius is dead, and none of the magisters will have any interest in helping us. The only help we will find is in getting captured or killed."

"Feynriel is in Tevinter. I have saved his life twice. He will help."

"Feynriel." A burst of hysterical laughter escaped from his mouth. "The somniari! The first somniari that lived in hundreds of years and you have sent him to Tevinter, where they will have taught him how to gain as much power as possible with his abilities. _That_ is your plan? Ask what now is one of the most dangerous men in the world for help?"

"Feynriel owes me. He will help."

"Magisters only return favors when they benefit from it themselves or when they have no other choice!"

"I don't believe Feynriel is a magister yet."

Fenris wanted to grab Hawke by the shoulders and shake him, but such an aggressive act would probably not go over very well with the others. Aveline would execute him on the spot.

_"You let him dominate you?"_

_"He will put you on a leash."_

He squeezed his eyes shut. _I'm not listening._ He did not know what to do to change Hawke's mind. He had no better suggestions. He just did not want to go back. He _could_ not go back. He knew his fear was not rational. He had killed his master and apprentice. Nobody could claim him. Nobody owned him. But returning to that place... it would mean facing so much. He had hoped to be free from magic and its hold on him, but once more it turned out his past continued to follow him. Stalking him, always waiting for a chance to drag him back.

He clung to the doorknob to stay upright. Tevinter. He knew no other word that could make him feel like this. Fenris opened his eyes to send a last pleading look Hawke's way, but Hawke had already turned his back to him.

"Merrill, any chance the Dalish know something that could help?"

"I don't think so," she replied. "I have never read anything about it in the old books of my people. Some spirits might know..."

"That won't be necessary," Hawke said friendly. "Just... is there a way for you to contact other clans for what they might know?"

She bit her lip. "I'm afraid I won't be very welcome."

"Okay, don't worry about it. I was only asking. Varric, do you think you might be able to find Bodahn and Sandal?"

The dwarf smiled. "I'm pretty sure I can do that, yes. Might take a while, though."

"I would appreciate it if you want to try it. Isabela, can you bring us to Minrathous?"

"I can."

"Good. Then set the course... or whatever you call it on a boat."

"Ship."

"Right."

Aveline came forward. "Hawke, you can't go alone to Tevinter. You need-"

"I don't need anything from you. I need people who are honest with me. After Isabela has brought Fenris and me to Minrathous, you are free to go wherever you want. Go to Orlais, or Ferelden. Build a life with your husband. I don't care. I just don't want to see you anymore."

"Hawke..."

Hawke did not wait for what else she had to say. He made his way for the door, making a gesture with his head to Fenris to indicate he had to follow him. Fenris' eagerness to get out of this room won it from the irritation that Hawke was ordering him to follow.

"Did you know it too?" Hawke asked once they had left Isabela's cabin.

"I did not." He had been too occupied with his own troubles to seek contact with anybody else during the past few days. He suspected they would not have involved him anyway. He would not have kept this from Hawke.

"Good."

The rest of the evening they did not speak to each other.


	7. Chapter 7

The days it took to reach Minrathous went by at a crawling pace. Fenris avoided everybody on board, and everybody on board avoided him. He recognized the looks they gave him when he passed. Stares filled with suspicion, poses full of caution. He had looked that way as well, at the abomination. He had never trusted Anders; whenever he had been forced to be in the same room as the abomination, Fenris had watched him closely, always prepared for the demon to surface. To be subjected to similar gazes pained him. He could not blame them; had it been someone else who was suddenly hearing demons, he would have treated them exactly the same. After what Anders had been driven to by a demon, everybody was more mistrustful. But it hurt. Hawke was the one who had brought them all together, but during the years the group had lasted, Fenris thought he had managed to connect with a few members. Isabela, Varric and Aveline were perhaps no friends, but he trusted them, dared to rely on them. In Hawke's group he had felt accepted, for once not treated as a potential source of trouble, a monster with mysterious powers. They had fought for him against Danarius and his slavers, and he had fought for them. Apparently it was all of lesser value than he had believed.

Hawke again proved to be the only exception to the behavior of the rest. And Hawke was the one he did not want to talk to. The way he had decided they would go to Tevinter, without taking into consideration what it would do to Fenris, what it would mean to him... Fenris could not forgive that so easily. The problem was that he still could not come up with very valid reasons why they should not go to that cursed place - besides the obvious argument that no realm was more foul and despicable and rotten... and that no help was to be found in the land where people like Danarius were the ones to rule.

Because he knew he would lose any argument with Hawke on the subject, he made his discontentment clear by refusing to speak to him. After a couple of attempts to have a casual conversation, Hawke got the message and left Fenris alone. Instead he watched from a distance and followed him around the ship, never letting him out of his sight. Fenris was unsure whether this was because Hawke too believed he could lose his mind any moment now, or that Hawke was concerned he would hurt himself. Perhaps both. Either way, it quickly got on Fenris' nerves to never be alone, especially since he was trying to find some privacy. The relentless whispers were enough company already.

The demons had quieted somewhat after their open assault on his sanity. They went back to whispering a few words at most, not full sentences. Fenris wondered if the rum had made him more susceptible to their vile intentions. Because he refused to ask Hawke if this could be the case, he had decided to refrain from drinking for the time being. This did nothing to improve his mood either.

* * *

In the late afternoon, two days after the "incident", Fenris was leaning against the rail of the ship and staring at the horizon, wishing the ship would sail into a different direction - did not matter which - when his ear caught Hawke's mumbled question.

"I don't hear them during the day. Do you?"

Inconspicuously Fenris turned his head a little to look over his shoulder. Hawke stood at a discrete distance with Merrill next to him. He probably thought he was too far away for Fenris to hear what he was saying, but he was wrong in that.

"No, not unless the... spirit is already in this world."

Hawke sighed audibly. "I was afraid of that. Father only talked about demons contacting you when sleeping. I don't think he ever heard them when awake, and I have never heard Bethany about it either." He hesitated. "Merrill, do you notice... can you sense it too?"

"Like a tear in the Veil you mean?"

"Yes."

"Sometimes," the elven mage agreed. "It's not very consistent. Oh, now it's getting stronger!"

"I think his markings are glowing."

Fenris looked down at himself to find some of the lines on his arms glowing softly. The markings were not fully active and he was not phasing, but irregular parts were shining blue. He squeezed the rail to force his body back into submission. His knuckles turned white, and after a few seconds the blue surrendered and disappeared.

Hawke spoke again, even more softly than before. Fenris could barely make out the words. "It's like he's a walking tear in the Veil."

"But how is that possible?"

"If I only knew... But Merrill, if it's really true, then... demons could be able to come through, couldn't they? They actually could posses him?"

Merrill's answer was almost as quiet as Hawke's. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

Hawke uttered a curse under his breath. "Oh no. I was afraid of that. We need to get this under control quickly. Who knows how long he'll hold out. We..."

Fenris noticed he was still squeezing the rail. He pushed himself back and walked away. The only satisfaction he got was that Hawke was now conflicted about whether he should follow Fenris or finish his conversation with Merrill.

* * *

The meditation sessions that had to increase his mental resistance were the only interaction with Hawke that Fenris allowed. Even then he exchanged as few words as possible, maintaining as much of his cold silence as he could. But when they were sitting in their shared cabin this evening, he could not keep quiet.

"You lied to me," he snapped at Hawke after having sat opposite of him for a few minutes with his eyes closed.

Hawke opened his eyes. "I did?" he asked, seemingly unimpressed. "Enlighten me."

""You get used to it," you said when I asked how you could stand hearing demons every day of your life. But apparently you don't hear them at all. You told me no demon would be able to cross the Veil and possess me, but that's not true either. I overheard you talking with the bloodmage today. You lied."

The aura of calm immediately left Hawke. His shoulders slumped and a hand went to his chin. "Listen, Fenris," he began. "I..."

"No, Hawke! For all your indignation about Aveline, Varric and Isabela keeping information from you, you certainly are quick to deceive me!"

"Okay, look, I'm sorry, but that's not the same."

Fenris folded his arms across his chest. "No, because now it's you, and you and your actions are infallible obviously."

Hawke's eyebrows lowered at that. "Oh, come on! That's not fair," he bit back.

"You claimed I could not possibly become an abomination!"

"Because I thought it would be impossible! It's supposed to be... I'm still not sure about it. I don't understand what's going on with you."

"Then why pretend that hearing demons in your mind is normal for a mage?"

"I never-" A growl from Fenris cut him off. "Alright, I did give that impression. But you asked me that not even an hour after you tried to rip your own heart out. I didn't dare to say anything that would further upset you. You were so... you seemed so desperate, so lost. I feared that if you believed yourself a threat again, I would not get a second chance to stop you from hurting yourself."

Fenris tried to hold onto his anger but felt it slipping away. He sensed Hawke was being honest now, and despite his desire to counter that he "was not made of glass", he realized that that moment had been such an extreme low that it would be an empty phrase. Besides, there was something about Hawke that made him pause. As soon as he had called Hawke out on his deception, Hawke had changed. There was something that drew his attention, something pressing, something alarming. When he saw Hawke's eyes dart away before they returned to Fenris' face, it hit him: Hawke was scared. His stomach clenched at the realization. Fear was not something he was used to seeing in the man who had helped him get through so many things. Hawke's calmness had helped Fenris regain some sense while his mind had been clouded by panic and the influence of demons. Despite all his concerns about his situation and Hawke's plan to go to Tevinter, Fenris had been somewhat hopeful that it would all be okay in the end. Hawke was convinced he could fix whatever was wrong with the markings, and that confidence had unwillingly rubbed off on Fenris. Now it turned out to be nothing but an act. Hawke did not know what to do, and he was scared. His confidence turned out to be the biggest lie. Fenris felt his own faith plummet. What good could going to Tevinter possibly do when neither he nor Hawke had any idea what they were after? They would just be two fools stumbling blindly to their doom. The meditation seemed useless as well. He never really understood what Hawke meant with his instructions and no matter how hard he tried to shield his mind off, the demons always got through.

_"No use resisting..."_

It took him a few seconds to realize that was not a thought of his own, but a demon's manipulation. Fenris shook his head and bit his tongue in frustration. It was no good. How could he fight what seemed to be his own thoughts? He had tried that for years already, and with no success. He did not even know how he was "resisting" as the demons suggested. Or how he should "give in", even if he wanted to.

He wanted to stand up and leave but Hawke stopped him by grabbing his hand. The unexpected touch made Fenris jump. As always his markings flared up when they made contact with Hawke, and now that Fenris was trying more than ever to keep the lyrium in check, the unwanted activity startled him. Hawke let go when he noticed Fenris' tendency to pull away. To Fenris' relief, his markings immediately stopped burning.

"We need to talk, Fenris," Hawke said. "If we're going to Tevinter, we must trust each other. We'll have nobody else to count on."

Fenris shook his head. "We have no idea what we have to do to solve it. It likely is not even possible to solve it. I am not going back to Tevinter when there's no reason to!"

"We may not know what to do yet, but that doesn't mean a solution doesn't exist. We will find a way. We just have to plan our actions carefully."

"Plan? What plan do we have, besides your idea to ask the somniari for help?"

Hawke looked up at Fenris, who was still standing. Hawke's face was calm again. The fear had disappeared from his eyes, pushed out by that cold, hard determination. "I need you to tell me as much about Tevinter as possible. There must be something we can use, some advantage we can get."

"I don't see how."

"At least sit down." Fenris thought of leaving anyway, but there was nowhere to run to. When Hawke had stopped him from killing himself, he had decided to fight. So fighting was what he had to do. With a sigh he sat back down, legs crossed. Hawke gave him a small smile. "Do you know if Danarius kept notes? From what I gather, you've been more or less an experiment. Would he have had notes about the ritual? The more we can find out about it, the better."

"I know of no notes. I only followed the orders of my master. What businesses he tended to was not my concern and beyond my understanding."

"But do you think it likely he has written down his knowledge?"

Fenris shrugged. "Possibly. I honestly cannot say for certain. His work was complete with me... he chose not to replicate his results or lacked the resources to do so. Either way I doubt he would risk one of his rivals getting hold of knowledge that could easily be used against him."

Hawke looked disappointed. "So... no notes?"

"If they exist, other magisters will have claimed ownership of them already. And they are not willing to share their secrets."

"Is the ritual that much of a secret then?"

"Warriors like myself are rare. Only the most powerful magister would attempt to... create one."

"Hmm." Hawke scratched one of his cheeks, thinking.  "We have to go through Danarius' possessions, see if we can find clues about the nature of the ritual and the markings. Any way to accomplish that?"

Fenris stared at him, barely able to believe Hawke's simplistic take on the whole situation. "No," he said curtly. "They won't let a former slave and a Fereldan mage walk into Danarius' old mansion to take his most valuable information."

"Do you think I could purchase Danarius' mansion?"

Again Fenris stared at Hawke, before he burst out laughing. "Even you don't have enough gold for that, Damian! And even if you had sufficient coin, you would have no chance. Don't think the magisters will welcome you or even respect you because you happen to be a mage; plenty of mages are being suppressed by the few who hold all the power. You're a foreigner. The Tevinter magisters don't think highly of other nations. They only see them as potential resources, people to bleed dry for their own gain or as mere amusement. You'd be wrong to believe they would ever see you as an equal. They will never allow you to live in a house meant for one of their own."

Instead of looking disappointed, as Fenris would have expected, Hawke appeared more determined and not yet willing to let the subject go. "Feynriel said something about his master dueling with another magister and killing him. Do these duels always end with the death of one of the competitors, or can the winner demand something else from the loser?"

Fenris feared he was looking rather slow with all the bewildered stares he was giving Hawke this evening. This time his reaction was not caused by Hawke's lack of understanding of the Imperium. Rather, it was the other way around. The suggestion actually had some merit... apart from the fact that it required the defeat of a magister.

"Usually the duels are not to the death, no," he replied slowly. "It is more often done as a way to compete for resources, or improve reputation. Ambitious apprentices sometimes challenge their old master to prove they have become greater than the person who has educated them. It is also perceived as very entertaining by the other magisters and the common people." The disgust in his voice was apparent. "When one magister challenges another, they make a whole show of it."

"Can magisters be challenged by an outsider?"

"Declining a challenge is seen as a weak thing to do, so the magister usually accepts, even when the challenger is not one of the elite, though it rarely happens. No-one in their right mind would duel a magister when being anything less than an aspiring magister himself." Fenris frowned at Hawke. "That includes you, Damian. So I wouldn't hatch a new plan that hinges on this." He scanned Hawke's face. Did he detect overconfidence? Arrogance?

"If I have to, I will," Hawke said simply. "But maybe it won't be necessary. We have killed a magister already after all."

"That was not in a duel."

"Can't we claim that it was?"

Fenris shook his head. "Duels have to be approved by the senate. The Archon himself has to acknowledge the outcome and the reward for the victorious has to be established beforehand."

"So us defeating Danarius won't give us an edge in any way?"

"Probably not. Most we can hope for is a pat on the back for getting rid of a rival for them."

Now there was some disappointment visible on Hawke's face. "Is there nothing we can use to our advantage? There's got to be something we can turn into our benefit."

Fenris thought on it for a moment. "There is one thing..." The spark of hope immediately returned to Hawke's eyes. "Your victory over the Arishok. Tevinter has been at war with the Qunari for years. Dead Qunari is one thing they like. Another pat on the back is likely the only thing you'll get for that as well, but it's worth pushing. Perhaps it will be enough to gain some respect..."

Hawke's smile was so bright it would make you think they had just come up with the miraculous solution for every problem they might encounter in Minrathous, instead of one tiny straw to grasp.

* * *

They were close to Minrathous now. The ship was sailing past the Tevinter shore already. A few more hours until they would reach their destination. Fenris paced across the ship, trying to calm himself and be at peace with the prospect of returning to the capital of the Tevinter Imperium. He kept repeating to himself that he had nothing to fear. He was free. Hawke would be there with him. He could trust Hawke.

_"Lies."_

_"Everybody lies"_

_"Except us."_

_"Let me in."_

_"Or me."_

_"No fear then."_

_"Everything you want."_

_Leave me alone!_

_"Have fun in Tevinter."_

_"We will too."_

A few more hours.

What were they getting into?

It had been decided that Merrill would accompany Varric in the search for Sandal. Isabela would keep the ship and pick up the life she had led years ago. Aveline and Donnic were thinking about going to Ferelden. As guards, or to serve the new Fereldan king.

During his pacing he passed them - Aveline and Donnic. They were standing next to each other near the rail. Fenris hesitated for a moment, then approached them.

Donnic took a step back when he saw Fenris, and Fenris' step faltered. _The single bond I managed without Hawke._ Gone. Destroyed. Donnic too saw him as a walking threat, unpredictable, no longer a person worth trusting. No longer a friend. Aveline did not follow her husband's example, but her attitude was clearly hostile.

"I... believe I owe you my gratitude," Fenris said when Aveline did not greet him.

"Your gratitude belongs to Hawke. Only his word kept me from killing you," she replied coldly.

Fenris nodded. "You are a better friend than I am," he said. "Had it been somebody else, I would have killed him, regardless of Hawke's wishes."

"Time will tell if I have done him a favor."

_"Kill her."_

Not knowing what else to say, Fenris stared at his feet. _Perhaps it's time to go._

At his visible unrest, Aveline softened a bit. "I would not have listened to him if you had not been determined to end your own life after what happened," she said. "I know how much you care about Hawke. You've shown that. But demons..."

"I know."

She shrugged off more of her distrust. "How far will you let him go?"

Fenris looked up to her. "What?"

"You must know he'll do anything to save you."

"I don't need saving." A stern gaze from Aveline was as bad as one from Hawke. "Hawke knows the boundaries he shouldn't cross." Another stern look at the weak words. His protests against the idea to go to Tevinter rang clear in both their memories, the way those had been brushed aside more than obvious. "It won't come to that."

_Blind optimism? From me?_

_"More like denial."_


	8. Chapter 8

About two hours later Isabela came to find Fenris. He was surprised to see her instead of Hawke when he looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"We're almost there," she told him. "We'll arrive within the hour. You'd better get your stuff."

Fenris gave a nod to indicate he had heard her. He let his gaze wander over the calm Nocen Sea. He knew they could have arrived in Minrathous sooner. The shortest and fastest route was to simply sail past Seheron's coast, but Isabela wanted to keep as much distance between her and the island as possible. As soon as they had gone through the narrow Ventosus Straits she had steered the ship south, away from Seheron, instead of continuing west straight to Minrathous. He doubted the Qunari would have attacked them - they were obviously not a Tevinter ship and the Qunari had no way of knowing Isabela was the captain- but Fenris was not going to complain about anything delaying their arrival.

"Are you okay, sweet thing?"

Fenris turned a bit towards her. He had expected her to walk away after her announcement, but she was still standing next to him. Asking him how he was doing. Before he could really consider confiding some of his concerns to her, his standard answer had rolled out of his mouth. "I'm fine."

Isabela let out one of her seductive chuckles. "Demons in your head, Tevinter as your destination, and still you're acting tough."

_I have no choice. I can't be anything but tough in the Imperium. I have to be ready._

No confiding then. Cool and collected instead. "Was that a compliment?"

Isabela leaned against the rail; her bosom was pushed up by the movement, offering an even deeper look into her impressive cleavage. The wind casually played with her hair. "You could say that," she replied.

Silence fell. Fenris was unsure what Isabela wanted. He did not have anything to say, but she had come to him, so he assumed she was not done yet. He looked at the sea again while he waited.

He did not have to wait long. "So..." Isabela drawled. "What exactly is it you're going to do when you get there? Is there a plan yet?"

"I wouldn't call it a plan exactly," Fenris said wryly. "It boils down to bluffing and fighting our way through until we suddenly reach a miraculous solution."

Isabela laughed at that. "Sounds like a fine plan to me."

"Yes, it was working out so well when you caused a Qunari invasion in Kirkwall."

She nudged him with her elbow. "So quick to bring up the one time it went wrong. Even that one turned out just fine."

"Thanks to Hawke." _It seems she just want to make conversation._ Fenris relaxed a little more. It was pleasant to be able to chat with someone without his defenses up so high.

"Thanks to Hawke," Isabela acknowledged. "Our savior when plans go wrong. You have him on your side, so there's nothing to worry about!"

Hawke certainly had helped him more than Fenris ever could have dreamed. _But Hawke admitted he has no clue how to solve this._

Only one way to find out. Start bluffing and fighting. Until the solution was found, or they lost.

"He's still mad, isn't he?" Isabela asked.

"Yes, he is." Hawke had refused to go near to Isabela, Varric or Aveline and had not exchanged one word with any of them after he had discovered their secrecy.

Isabela nodded, her face somber.

"What are your plans?" Fenris asked her to divert her thoughts. "You finally have a ship again."

The question worked: a mischievous smile appeared on the pirate's face. "I think I'll stay in the neighborhood. There must be enough cargo to raid near Minrathous. Or to free..."

Fenris felt his mouth twitch, but he remained serious. "That got you into trouble with Castillon," he reminded her. "Are you certain you want to do it again? Tevinter will soon get sick of losing slaves and send forces to stop you."

The smile did not falter. "I wish them luck. I wouldn't have managed as long as I have if I were easy to catch."

Fenris could not bring himself to argue any further about freeing potential slaves. Any attempt to annoy the Imperium he would greet with much cheer. If Isabela could sabotage enough of the constant supply of free workforces, she would do more than annoy the magisters. Tevinter would crumble without its slaves. Perhaps, combined with a successful rebellion...

He realized his smile had turned into a grin. "You have my approval," he said to Isabela. "Although I thought that one time was just a ruse, not worthy of repeating?"

Isabela threw her head back and sighed dramatically. "I blame Hawke. And you, and lady man-hands. Sebastian. Even Varric."

"Me?" Fenris repeated with a raised eyebrow.

With another sigh, Isabela let her head roll forward again. "Yes, you. I think you've reminded me of what slavery really means. Everybody deserves to be free."

"Another compliment?"

"Compliment? I hate you for it!"

Now it was Fenris' turn to chuckle. "Just remember to stay alert."

She winked and met his grin with one of her own. Teeth flickered in the sunlight. "I don't fall asleep when I have to keep watch."

_"Kill her."_

_"Noooo."_

_"Take her."_

_"Claim her."_

_"Then kill her."_

The grin fell from Fenris' face. Isabela noticed his mood shift; he saw caution spark in her eyes. He took a step away from the rail and the pirate. "I... I'll go tell Hawke we're almost at our destination," he mumbled. "Excuse me."

With brisk steps he quickly put as much distance between himself and Isabela as possible. In one thing Hawke was right: they had no true alternatives to Tevinter. The demons would not stop. They continued to jump into his thoughts when he did not expect it. It was confusing, frustrating and frightening. Although he dreaded the thought of returning to Minrathous, he would be glad to get off this ship. In Tevinter he would at least be away from the people who had been his allies for over six years. Away from their distrust, away from the opportunity to hurt any of them.

In front of the door to Hawke's cabin Fenris paused to make sure his breathing was even. He did not want to let Hawke know he was upset. He had to show he was strong enough. Strong enough for Minrathous. Strong enough to resist demons.

When he opened the door, Hawke was standing with his back to him, looking down at himself. He was dressed in the robes he had worn when they fled Kirkwall. The only mage clothing he had left. Fenris stopped at the sight. In the last weeks he had gotten used to seeing Hawke wearing pants. Now there was a mage standing in this room again.

At the sound of the door opening Hawke looked over his shoulder. He smiled at Fenris when he saw who had entered. Hawke's cheeks were covered with a dark red shadow of stubble. The redness of the sunburn had retreated, but now the skin of his forehead and nose was peeling. It was not much of an improvement.

"Hey."

Fenris cleared his throat. "Isabela said we're almost in Minrathous."

Hawke nodded. "I thought as much."

"Have you packed yet?"

As an answer Hawke gestured towards his bag, which appeared to have been stuffed full. He looked down at himself again, seemingly lost in thought. One hand went up, this time to scratch his nose. When he realized what he was doing, Hawke stopped. "By the Maker's wrinkled bottom! This itches even worse!" he muttered angrily. His scratching had worsened the condition of his nose even more.

"Is there a problem?" Fenris asked when Hawke turned his head as far as possible to look at his robes from over his shoulder.

"No..." Hawke replied slowly. "I'm just thinking to get changed again." He pulled the robes over his head and threw them next to his bag, from which he fished a pair of trousers and a tunic. "Better to accentuate the differences," he said while putting on his trousers.

"You're going to make a fashion statement in Tevinter?" Fenris asked in disbelief.

Chuckling, Hawke tied the laces of the trousers. "Why not? We're going there to stir things up a little after all."

That was not really what Fenris had thought their goal would be, but if Hawke wanted to antagonize the magisters with his choice of clothing, he saw no reason to stop him. He preferred Isabela's way of antagonizing, but they were supposed to get information from the magisters. If they succeeded in finding a cure for his unstable markings, they could join Isabela in her raidings. That idea appealed to Fenris.

"Do you need to gather your things?" Hawke asked him.

Fenris spread his hands. "I have no more possessions than when I left Kirkwall." His sword was already strapped on his back. Since the whispers had revealed their true nature, he was always carrying it with him again. He was wearing his full armor as well. Steel could do little against the demons hiding in his head, but it provided a small illusion of defense nonetheless. Hawke nodded before he started to pull the tunic over his head. Fenris' eyes followed Hawke's movements, the subtle shifting of muscle underneath light skin. Despite Hawke being not nearly as muscular as a human warrior of the same height and build, his body hinted at a healthy strength. Fenris was stronger. If he chose to do so, he could easily bring Hawke off balance and pin him down, tear his clothes away to lick and bite and devour...

He shook his head, closing his eyes. _Stop. This has to stop!_

_"You know you want it."_

When Fenris opened his eyes again he saw Hawke was now fully clothed. Hawke now grabbed his staff and stuffed his robes in the bag before he hoisted it over his shoulder. He glanced around the small cabin to make sure he had not forgotten anything before he took a step toward Fenris and reached out a hand to brush his cheek. Fenris stepped aside to evade Hawke's hand, quickly turning to leave the cabin. Hawke's arm fell uselessly back to his side. He could not let Hawke touch him while he was having these thoughts. It felt wrong to allow it, and he was afraid he would not be able to control himself when Hawke unknowingly encouraged the thoughts demons were putting inside his head. Hawke was the last person near whom he could let his guard down right now. _And that while he is the only person I can rely on._

A voice from upstairs provided Fenris with an excuse for his quick departure. "Destination in sight! Prepare to dock!" 

* * *

 _Minrathous_. Fenris watched in silence, with Hawke next to him, how their ship slowly entered the harbor of the capital of the Tevinter Imperium. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. Before him the city rose up, just as proud as more than a decade ago. Sounds familiar for the docks resounded around him: the screams of seagulls, the shouting, whistling, cursing, and singing of sailors, the negotiating of merchants, the noise of crates and other goods being moved around, the soft whimpering of newly captured slaves. It was like he had never left.

Fenris' heart hammered against his ribs. Underneath his armor he could feel the markings itch and pulsate. He glanced at Hawke, hoping to get some reassurance from the man next to him, but Hawke paid no attention to Fenris. He was too busy taking in the new environment with wide eyes. Fenris bit back his annoyance at the barely contained fascination that radiated from Hawke. Despite everything he had told Hawke about Tevinter, despite everything the mage _knew_ of this place, he still looked like an eager tourist. Admittedly, Minrathous was an impressive sight for someone who visited the city for the first time, but for Fenris every admiration he could have for the high, thick walls that defended the city and the contrasting delicacy of the architecture of the buildings within those walls was crushed by what it all represented: the power of the magisters, gained by the use of magic without scruples. Every brick, every stone had been paid for with the blood of innocent people, over the broken backs of slaves. The beauty of all the pillars, domes and towers was a lie. Hawke was no oblivious tourist; he should know this.

Isabela's crew knew what they were doing, so soon the ship had docked and the gangway had been placed. The path to Minrathous was clear. Hawke glanced over his shoulder at Varric, Isabela, Aveline and Merrill and gave a curt nod in their general direction. Then, without further ado he stepped on the gangway and quickly walked to the shore. Not one word, not one look back.

Fenris inhaled sharply through his nose. _This is it._ Time to get off Isabela's ship. He tried to turn away from the rail, only to discover his fingers refused to let go. They were clutching the wood so tightly the edges of his gauntlets made scratches on the surface. The aura coming from the city made his markings itch.

 _I can do this._ Another deep breath, and then he was able to release the rail and turn around. Because he had no idea what he could possibly say at a moment like this - as with so many other moments -, he followed Hawke's example and only nodded nervously towards Varric, Isabela, Aveline and Merrill. Hawke's lack of a decent goodbye had further increased the tension, so that it was almost as tangible as Minrathous' magical aura.

A few steps and he was on the gangway. Without spreading out his arms for extra balance Fenris made his way to the quay, combating the feeling that he was following his master. Soon he felt the warm stones underneath his bare feet and was swallowed up in the crowd. It took him a few seconds before he found Hawke's figure amidst the chaos of moving bodies. Sailors brought the catch of today to the warehouses so it could be sold on the market tomorrow. The disgusting smell of freshly caught fish surrounded Fenris. _I really do hate fish._

With long strides he caught up with Hawke, who barely seemed to have waited for him and had already wandered away from the edge of quay, turning his head from one side to the other to see as much of his surroundings as possible. He only noticed Fenris when he appeared next to him and immediately began to walk faster.

"I sense a lot of disapproval coming my way," Hawke remarked while he carefully evaded a very broad sailor carrying a very large chest.

Fenris had to bypass the sailor from the other side before he could walk next to Hawke again. "Are you in a hurry?" he asked instead of immediately reacting to Hawke's words.

"It's late afternoon and I was hoping to speak to Feynriel today, so, yes."

"You know where he lives?"

"I don't. But I guess he'll be in the Circle during the day." Hawke halted and stood on his toes to look over the heads of the people around him. Because Minrathous had been built on a slope, they could see quite a big part of the city before them. "I assume that-," Hawke pointed straight ahead, "is the Chantry?"

Fenris did not really need to look to where Hawke had pointed to answer. "No," he said curtly. " _That_ 's the Circle of Minrathous. The Chantry is over there." He gestured vaguely to the left.

"Ooh." Hawke stared at the large building which rested in the centre of the city. Its dome was glittering gold in the afternoon sun. "Shiny." He shot a look at Fenris. "Still sensing lots of disapproval. It's radiating from you."

Fenris shook his head and started walking again. _Straight to the building with all the magisters in it. Wonderful._ "Didn't you want to say goodbye?" he eventually asked.

Hawke's brow knitted. "No. I'm done with it. With them."

"I thought they were your friends."

"I thought so too. That makes both of us wrong."

Fenris thought about Aveline and Isabela, both looking sad and guilty after they had lost Hawke's trust and friendship. They could have known how Hawke would react to their secrecy. Fenris understood Hawke's anger at others deciding what he should and should not know. People had no right to determine whether you were too fragile to handle what life threw at you. But this group had stood by Hawke's side for more than six years. That Hawke was mad was his right, but Fenris did not really recognize Hawke in the vehemence of his reaction. He decided to drop the subject.

They continued their way. Fenris noticed that he was scanning the people they passed, alert for any sign which could mean a threat. _Because I know this place isn't safe, or because I'm a bodyguard again?_ Hawke was continuously looking around as well, but he did not appear to be searching for potential dangers. His eyes drifted over the buildings and people around them. Having left the activity of the docks behind, they now entered a part of the city which was still very crowded, but not with people working and hastily getting from one place to the other. Instead, men and women of all ages were sitting on the side of the street, against the buildings. Most wore clothing in faded colors with frayed edges. All had arms and legs so thin that they were no more than bones with a layer of skin over them. Dark eyes lying deep in their sockets followed every step of the people who walked by. Many stretched out a begging hand and whispered pleas for food and coin.

"I thought Tevinter was a rich country," Hawke said softly as he stared at three young children with smudged, hollow faces.

"The magisters are rich. That means little for the rest of the population."

"But how can there be so many homeless here? This looks like Kirkwall during the blight."

"Most are refugees as well. Not from the blight, but the war with the Qunari. As long as Tevinter refuses to give up Seheron, the Qunari will strike back. Many villages near the coast have been destroyed. Survivors and people who fear their huts will suffer the same fate flee to Minrathous with its high walls."

"But why-" Hawke was interrupted by a man who suddenly appeared next to him and grabbed his right arm.

"Coin? Do you have some coin for me?" the stranger pleaded while he dug his fingers into Hawke's sleeve. "Please, messere. My children..." He fell silent when his eyes went over the staff on Hawke's back. The mouth of the man remained agape for a few seconds, then he managed to close it, only for it to fall open again. "F...forgive me, messere!" he finally stammered. He released Hawke's arm so fast one would think it had burned him. The beggar seemed conflicted between smoothening the fabric of Hawke's sleeve and running away. "Your... your clothes... I... I didn't realize... Please, forgive me!" Only then did he see Fenris standing at Hawke's other side. Underneath the dirt, his skin paled. Once more his mouth fell open, this time in a silent shout. Apparently rid of his doubt, the beggar turned around and ran away as fast as his thin legs could carry him. He bumped into people and pushed them aside in his escape. Angry shouts were tossed after him, but the man ignored it. Within seconds he had disappeared, leaving a dumbstruck Hawke behind.

Hawke cleared his throat and looked at Fenris. "Well... _that_ 's something that has never happened to me before."

 _I can't say the same._ "It seems your fashion statement is confusing the wrong people."

Hawke made a noise that was something between a huff and a snort. They continued on their way to the Circle. Hawke appeared a bit miffed about frightening a beggar without actually doing or saying anything, so they walked in silence for some time. Fenris tried to forget about the incident, but the pure fear that the beggar had displayed when he had seen Fenris was difficult to brush aside. In Kirkwall he had been avoided and not very subtly ignored by plenty of people, yet nobody had panicked and fled as soon as they laid eyes on him. Did people still remember him after a decade of absence? Was it his reputation as Danarius' bodyguard which had upset that man so? Or just the markings that made him look so strange? 

* * *

They had not gotten much farther when a high, inhuman shriek cut through the warm autumn air. Both Hawke and Fenris instinctively reached for their weapon. Fenris was still trying to determine where the sound had come from, when a surge of dark, entropic energy was fired his way. Before Fenris could jump aside, Hawke had already raised a protective shield around him that absorbed the hostile magic without trouble. The source of said magic announced itself with another shriek which raised the hairs on the back of everybody's neck. A figure that vaguely represented the human it had once been came running from a nearby alley. Richly decorated fabric was wrapped around the hips but torn by the shoulders, which were twice as broad as those of a regular human. Facial features were hidden and deformed by dozens of tumors of varying size. Only the eyes were still recognizable as human, although something else was now looking through them.

"Abomination!" Hawke yelled, raising his staff.

_My markings are getting unstable. I'm not going blind._

The abomination screamed again and launched itself forward to attack. With his sword in his hands, Fenris evaded the creature and gave a kick against its behind to make it lose balance. Due to its speed the abomination flew forward, where it collided with a wall of solid ice spikes conjured up by Hawke. The pained scream the monster let out as its own weight pinned it on one of the sharp points was far less threatening than its earlier noise. Fenris raised his sword while the abomination helplessly flailed its arms and legs to free itself. It did not get much time: with one forceful sweep Fenris cut off the creature's head. The arms and legs twitched for a few more seconds as the demon controlling them fought to contain its hold on the body. However, even demons could not fight the inevitable, and more than those few seconds it could not manage to stay in this world now that its host was dead. The last movements had ceased before Fenris lowered his sword. That single burst of action had left him exhausted.

Hawke appeared next to him, staring at the dead abomination with a bewildered expression on his face.

"Don't look so surprised," Fenris growled. "Did you honestly expect a different kind of welcome in Tevinter?"

 


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of the walk to the Circle was - fortunately - less eventful. They encountered no further trouble along the way. Hawke wiped the sweat from his brow once they reached the top of the hill upon which the Circle had been built. From up here it was clear that the building formed the center of Minrathous; the hill offered an impressing view of most of the city. Fenris gazed in the direction of the sea, still wishing he could be anywhere but here, before he turned back to face the entrance of the Circle. Two guards were stationed next to the giant gilded doors, which were high enough to allow an ogre to enter without the need to duck. The guards themselves looked small next to the massive doors. Still, they seemed to think they looked impressive, dressed in their light plate cuirasses that appeared to have been made of gold as well and glistened in the lazy afternoon sun. The armor was purely decorative, Fenris knew: both men were mages. Instead of trousers the guards wore robes of expensive fabric in dark purple. Ironically, it reminded him of the templar uniform.

"How do we get in?" Hawke asked, his eyes on the two guards.

"We try your plan."

Hawke looked confused. "Plan? What plan? Freeze their toes and cook their brains?"

"No," Fenris said, suppressing a sigh. "Bluff our way in. Tell them you have an appointment with Feynriel."

"You think it'll be that easy?"

Fenris shrugged. "Those guards are mostly for show, and to keep the commoners out. The magisters think they have little to fear from others from outside their golden doors. Besides, this is not like the Circles in the rest of Thedas. At the end of the day all mages are allowed to return to their private mansions. That means it's easier to get in and out. Entrance isn't exactly forbidden."

Hawke inhaled slowly. For the first time Fenris thought he could detect a bit of nervousness. "Very well. Let's try it. And hope that Feynriel is actually inside."

After a confirmative nod from Fenris, Hawke strode to the giant, carved doors. He stopped right in front of them, looking like he expected them to open for him immediately and huffing in annoyance when they remained shut. Fenris stayed one step behind Hawke, on his right.

"Yes?" The right guard asked in a bored voice after they had stood there like that for almost a minute.

"I want you to open those doors for me."

Both Tevinters glanced at Hawke's clothing and smirked. "No commoners allowed," the left guard said, sounding equally bored.

"I am here to see an old friend of mine. Feynriel."

Now the guards paid a little more attention, albeit because they believed to detect an amusingly bad lie. "Is that so?" the left guard asked mockingly. "And what's your name?"

Hawke straightened his back to his full height, which was already greater than that of the average Fereldan and left the Tevinter guards in his shadow. "Feynriel and all the others will hear of this, serahs," he said threateningly. "You are certainly not contributing to a good first impression of the Tevinter Imperium. But if you insist: my name is Hawke, Champion of the city of Kirkwall in the Free Marches for defeating the Arishok in single combat." Hawke waved his arms around to accentuate every word. "Remember it well, because I'm certain you will hear it again from now on! My companion Fenris," Hawke stretched out an arm towards Fenris, "should already be known to you as the best warrior Tevinter has ever seen. So I hope you now both understand that neither of us are commoners, and if you know what's good for you, you stop scratching your butt and let us in. I have an urgent meeting with Feynriel and you are delaying me."

Fenris bit his tongue to control himself. He was not sure whether he should laugh at Hawke's theatrics or shake him because he had taken it too far and turned it into a joke. Shaking him was the most tempting.... _I have gone to one of the most dangerous places in the world with a comedian at my side._

The guards exchanged a brief look. They seemed to have lost most of their arrogance. Then, much to Fenris' surprise, the Tevinters took a step aside and faced the doors. Simultaneously they stretched out a hand and made a quick gesture. The doors swung open to the inside without making any sound. Their faces blank, the guards took in their old position on their respective side of the door.

"You may enter," the guard on the right said, in a tone that could not be any more polite and professional.

Hawke gave no sign that he had ever doubted the guards' decision. Head held high, back straight, he marched inside. Fenris followed him, his head held less high, his back less straight. He felt as if the weight of all the magic in this cursed city was bearing down on him. The weariness he had been feeling since the short fight with the abomination had failed to decrease with the walk up the hill.

When he went through the Circle's entrance, his markings immediately lit up. The place was filled with powerful magic, from the gilded, engraved doors to the high ceiling. The auras were not only caused by the mages who were present and the magical artifacts that were undoubtedly kept here. The building itself was emanating magic, with enchantments that were far more complicated than anything that Sandal would ever have put on a sword or piece of armor engraved in the stones. If history was to be believed, this building predated the first Blight. The combination of dwarven architecture and the power of generations of magisters had resulted in something indestructible. There was no doubt this was truly the domain of mages. Hawke's magical aura, which tended to overshadow other magical presences in a room, was reduced to a candle's flame in a raging fire. Fenris could sense a ripple of excitement going through the demons that were catching glimpses of the mortal plane through his eyes.

After they had taken three steps inside, the doors closed behind them as silently as they had opened. Hawke shot an unnerved look over his shoulder.

"They will let us out again once we're done, won't they?"

"We can only hope." _They wouldn't have let me out._

"Oh, very reassuring," Hawke muttered. "Never thought I would voluntarily walk into a Circle."

_About time you have to set foot somewhere you don't want to._

"You thought it wouldn't work, did you?" Hawke apparently decided to push his concerns aside for the time being and sounded rather smug. "You thought they would kick us down the hill. I could hear your teeth gnashing."

"You did move beyond what an ordinary man would consider to be bluffing."

"Nonsense. We're inside, aren't we? Now we only have to find Feynriel. Any idea where we should start looking?"

"If he is an apprentice the library would be my first guess." Danarius had rarely visited the library of the Circle; he had mostly relied upon his private book collection when he needed to research something, but Hadriana had often studied there with other young mages.

"Lead the way."

Ten years of absence had not changed Fenris' good memory of the floor plan of the Circle. While serving Danarius it had been essential for him to know how to get from one room to the next as fast as possible. If Danarius or Hadriana suspected that he was being slow, they had been quick to make their displeasure known. Fenris also recalled the time he had had to chase a slave who had attempted to assassinate his master. He had caught the man by accurately guessing where he would flee, taking a faster route and cutting him off. Needless to say the failed assassin had not left the building alive.

The vast halls were mostly empty, something Fenris was grateful for. Whenever he saw somebody wearing robes ahead, he expected it would be his sister. Would she study here, practice her magic? Or had her chance of becoming a magister died with Danarius? Had she even returned to Minrathous at all? To Tevinter? What would he do if he suddenly stood face to face with Varania?

_"Kill her."_

_"Like you should have done."_

_"When you had the chance."_

He had not come here to kill anybody. The only reason he was here was because of his markings. He had made his decision when he let her go. No reason to back down on his word. He had had the strength to walk away from it once - with Hawke's help - and he would do so again if need be.

_But hopefully it won't come to that._

They got to the library - or rather, the most commonly used library out of the many rooms filled with books the Circle contained - without running into Varania or any magisters. Hawke's face brightened at the sight of so many knowledge written down and placed on shelves, but he was careful not to say anything to betray his enthusiasm. The library was not empty like the hallways had been. Although the majority of people studying here had already left, there were still several apprentices and some enchanters sitting at the large tables. Dark eyes looked up from the pages they had been reading and followed Fenris and Hawke as they walked past the shelves searching for Feynriel.

They found him alone at the table farthest away from the central tables, bent over a thick tome with pages that had been colored yellow by the passage of years. Hawke gave Fenris a relieved smile before he quickly approached the young mage, who did not look up until Hawke spoke. "Hello, Feynriel."

Feynriel's head whipped up and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw Hawke standing in front of him. "Hawke! I... what a surprise. I had no idea you would visit me!"

"I'm afraid I haven't had the time to write you a letter to alert you, Feynriel. We have come as fast as we could." Hawke cut right to the chase. "We need your help."

"Of course," Feynriel said while he looked like he was still trying to process Hawke's unexpected appearance. "You have saved my life twice. I owe you more than I could ever repay." Fenris wondered briefly whether Hawke would be keeping track of all the people who owed him something. He must have an impressive list by now. Feynriel closed the tome he had been reading. "What can I do for you?"

"You remember Fenris?" Fenris took two hesitant steps forward, so that he was standing next to Hawke. Unease marked Feynriel's features for a brief moment before he had himself under control again and forced a polite smile on his face that looked almost genuine. When Hawke had tried to negotiate with the slavers to free Feynriel, Fenris had forced them to attack, ignoring the threat of the leader of the group to cut Feynriel's throat. Obviously Feynriel had not forgotten that. His voice did not betray the holding of a grudge, though. "Of course I remember. I owe him my life too."

Fenris' attempt to return a small smile turned into a grimace when Hawke gave him a push to make him stand closer to Feynriel. "Fenris is the reason we're here," Hawke said softly, although Fenris had no doubt that all the mages in the room would succeed in hearing what they were saying nevertheless. "He used to be a slave of a magister here. That magister conducted some kind of ritual to create these." Hawke's finger brushed one of the thicker lines on Fenris' arm. "They grand special abilities, but I fear they have become unstable. You can probably sense that he forms some kind of tear in the Veil. He can hear demons call to him; they try to influence his actions. Neither of us has any idea how to control this or what the ritual involved besides lyrium. Because a Tevinter magister has done this, we-" Fenris glared at Hawke, "...okay, _I_ thought this would be the place we could find answers."

Feynriel leaned back in his chair. He breathed in, puffing up his cheeks, and blew the air out again before he spoke. "Wow." He shook his head. "You really did not come here with an easy task to help with."

"I know that warriors like him are rare," Hawke started, "But surely someone-"

"Rare?" Feynriel interrupted. He pushed himself forward, though he remained seated. "As far as I know, he is the only one."

"But..." Hawke looked at Fenris. "You said it yourself that warriors like yourself are rare. You never told me you were the only one!"

"I have seen two or three others like me, though that was long ago. How should I know what has happened to them in the meantime?"

Hawke rubbed his face. "Alright, never mind." He turned back to Feynriel. "Do you know what to do about this?"

Through narrowed eyes, Feynriel quietly studied Fenris for a while. "I have learned a great deal about the Veil here," he finally said, "but I don't think the ways to mend tears in the Veil that I have been taught will work here. I also have never seen the other ones you speak of or even heard of them. Perhaps my mentor, Claudius, will know. I will ask him when I meet him."

"I'd prefer it if we could pay him a visit right now," Hawke said calmly. "Is he here?"

"Uhm... yes, he is in his office. But I think it's better if..."

"Take us to him."

Feynriel stared up at Hawke, contemplating whether he should give him his way. He was clearly torn between obedience to his master and doing something to repay the immense favor he owed Hawke. Hawke did not allow Feynriel's sense of obedience to get the upper hand. "Take. Us. To. Him." He repeated the words slowly, pronouncing them very carefully. It was unwise to resist Hawke when he had ice in his eyes, and the threat in those few carefully spoken words could not be missed. This was an order, not a request.

Feynriel barely lasted a second under the weight of Hawke's gaze. He dropped his eyes and mumbled an agreement. He got up, gesturing to Hawke and Fenris to follow him. Hawke only gave a nod in return. Feynriel's hesitance had apparently made Hawke lose what little patience he had had.

Murmurs rose up behind them as soon as they left the library. The apprentices could not withhold their eagerness to discuss the appearance of the two mysterious strangers long enough to wait for them to be out of earshot. Fenris thought he heard "Danarius", "unique" and "lyrium" a few times before they were marching through the hall again to magister Claudius' office.

None of them spoke while they walked. The tension between them had risen sharply with Hawke's unspoken threat. Fenris did not care much if Feynriel's feelings were hurt by the cold behavior of his hero. He used what little energy he had left to try to ignore the demons that continued to plague his mind. The whispers were an ongoing nuisance nibbling at his defenses.

After five minutes Feynriel stopped in front of a broad door made of an exotic type of wood. Various kinds of flowers and animals were carved in its surface, with much attention paid to detail. The birds had feathers, the fish had scales, mammals had hair. The result was almost lifelike, even with the lack of paint. Feynriel did not pause to admire the craftwork, though he did hesitate before he knocked. At an affirmative noise from the other side of the door, Feynriel pushed the door open and entered cautiously. Hawke immediately went in after him.

"Master Claudius," Feynriel said with a voice he could not keep all the nervousness out of. "I am sorry to disturb you, but some friends of me who need your help have just arrived..."

The magister did not look op from his desk. He mumbled something dismissive in Arcanum at his parchment and waved Feynriel away.

"Common tongue, please," Hawke said so loudly that Feynriel nearly jumped and looked at him in shock.

It did have the desired effect: magister Claudius slowly raised his head and sat upright. Only when he had carefully placed the tips of his fingers against each other, he spoke. "Ah, messere Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. What a surprise to suddenly have you in my office."

Hawke, who had already been prepared to repeat the show he had given in front of the two guards, was left at a loss for words. That the magister was aware of who he was and did not show the slightest bit of surprise brought him off balance. Claudius took Hawke's appearance in, in a way that was a perfect mix of disinterest and disdain, while Hawke was trying to decide what to say.

Hawke's recovery was not very impressive. "You... you know who I am?"

"Of course I do. I consider it part of my duty to stay informed of events that take place beyond the borders of this realm. As you probably know, we are no friends of the Qunari, so," magister Claudius bared two rows of straight, white teeth in a smile, "when an outsider manages to kill the military leader of those blasted ox-men, I take notice. The whole Senate had a good laugh about it."

The possibility that Tevinter had somehow profited from his heroic attempt at suicide had apparently not really been considered by Hawke either. A little frown creased his brow while he let the magister's words sink in. Fenris had to admit that he too was taken by surprise that the magister immediately knew who Hawke was, but not as much as Hawke. Magisters maintained their power by playing vicious political games. Being one step behind an opponent could mean your end here. Fenris now cursed their blind optimism. This man would not be deceived by bluff.

"Did it help with your war?" Hawke inquired innocently.

Claudius' smile disappeared abruptly. With his dark eyebrows lowered, he said: "Not really. For a while the ox-men seemed at a disadvantage with their Arishok in Kirkwall, but the beasts are disciplined, and the Arishok's successor was quickly used to his new role." The last word was spat out in disgust. "So far we remain at an impasse. But I have no doubt we will eventually drive them back into the sea." Hawke nodded halfheartedly. "But I assume you are not here three years after your heroics to discuss the Qunari with me..."

"No," Hawke pulled his shoulders back. "No, I'm not. Like Feynriel said, I need your help." Hawke stepped aside to make room for Fenris, who had not passed the doorway yet.

Now that Fenris could get a clear view of the magister, he recognized him. More lines marked his face and his black hair had streaks of grey in it, but the overall sharp features had remained the same. Before Fenris' escape, Claudius had been one of the newer magisters. His star had been rising a decade ago, and apparently it had risen high.

The air of disinterest fell from Claudius when he saw Fenris. Greed sparked up in his eyes as he got up from his chair and leaned over his desk. "Is that... Danarius' slave?"

Fenris wanted to show that arrogant prick he was nobody's slave anymore, but Hawke, sensing the threat of Fenris' eruption, was faster and raised and arm in front of Fenris' chest to stop him. "Fenris is a free man," he said quickly. "Danarius made the mistake of trying to claim him as his property, and he paid for it with his life. Fenris has earned his freedom. He is here as his own person, as my equal. I expect him to be addressed as such."

Claudius' expression became perfectly cold and unaffected again. "Of course." He sat back down and assumed his old pose. "And what is it that you two need of me?"

With two large steps Hawke had reached the other side of the desk. "The markings are becoming unstable. I need to know what to do about that."

"Do they? How interesting." The magister's fingers tapped against each other while he thought about it. "Then again, it's not surprising."

"It's not?" Hawke asked eagerly. "So you know what can be done?"

"It's not," Claudius repeated dryly. "But I do not know what can solve the issue."

"What do you mean by that?"

"What I _mean_ , is that it is only logical that the markings are becoming unstable now that Danarius is no longer alive to maintain them."

Fenris staggered, nearly fell against Feynriel. Of course. How could he ever have expected anything else? How could he have believed it would end with Danarius' death? As it turned out Danarius' death only meant his own end. His mouth twisted with the bitter irony of it all. He wondered if Danarius had known. He had never made a mention of it, not even in his last battle in an attempt to save his life. Perhaps Danarius had realized it would have made no difference. Fenris would rather be dead than continue to live as a slave, even if he would be a healthy slave. Still, the cruelty of fate caused bile to coat his tongue. The demons made no secret of their amusement.

His sister's accusing voice echoed inside his head. _"You wanted it. You competed for it."_

Hawke appeared to struggle with this revelation as well. His voice wavered when he tried to speak. "It must be possible to maintain them again. I could do it. Or undo the whole ritual. Just tell me how."

The answer was like a stone dropping on the last glimmer of hope they had. "As far as I am aware, there is no way. None of us have been successful at reproducing Danarius' remarkable results."

_"You said you didn't ask for this, but that's not true."_

"But... Fenris has seen warriors with markings like him!"

"They all died shortly after their ritual. The lyrium killed them within a few days, and that was the best we could do."

_"You wanted it."_

"In that case I want to take a look inside Danarius' mansion. Search for information about the ritual. He must have kept notes..."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Danarius' mansion is now the property of magister Gaius. I might add that we have found no documentation concerning the ritual among Danarius' belongings."

Fenris could tell by the tension in Hawke's back that he could barely control himself. "Feynriel wrote in a letter to me that you have killed another magister in a duel. According to Fenris the victor can claim possessions of the loser. We have defeated Danarius. Your own rules say that his belongings are now ours."

Claudius folded his arms across his chest. "Do not offend us by pretending to know our ways," he snapped irritated. "That was no official duel approved and supervised by the Archon. You can barely claim the rings on Danarius' dead fingers."

Hawke leaned over, placing his hands on the large desk without paying attention to the sheets of parchment lying there. He leaned over far enough to be nose to nose with the magister. "Then I will duel magister Gaius," he hissed. "And you. I will duel every one of you if need be. I have beaten Danarius, and I will defeat and kill you all if that will give me the answers I seek!"

Magister Claudius snorted, completely unimpressed. "Barbarians! Perhaps this is a normal way to handle things in your country, but here we are civilized people. Don't think you can intimidate me. Have you ever wondered why Danarius did not know you are a mage, Champion? Ever considered why you could take him by surprise? Why he did not squash you like the bugs you are?" When Hawke did not answer, Claudius flashed his teeth again. "It is because I paid his informants not to tell him."

"I like how you're revealing that right after you claim to be civilized."

Claudius' eyes flashed darkly. "Danarius dug his own grave by granting powers to a slave he could not control. His arrogance was his downfall. I only perfected the circumstances for his demise. This is how it goes in Tevinter. Now, we can try to resolve this situation our way, or you can leave. Blurting out threats will certainly get you nowhere."

It was obvious who had won here. Hawke ran a hand through his loose hair. "What do you propose?"

The magister considered for a moment. "I will speak to magister Gaius to see if he is willing to let you into his home to search for information. In the meantime you could try talking to Danarius' wife, to hear if she-"

"His _wife_?" Hawke gaped at Claudius before he spun around to look at Fenris. "Danarius was _married_?!"

Fenris stared back in Hawke's bewildered face. He did not understand Hawke's surprise. "He was," he replied hesitantly.

Had Hawke's jaw been loose, he now would have had to pick it up from the floor. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he produced any sound. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

"They are _all_ married! Why did you assume differently?"

"But if he was married, then why did he..." Hawke swallowed what he was about to say. _Did he what?_ "You never even mentioned her."

"Why would I? Do you want me to recite Danarius' hobbies for you as well?" At the look on Hawke's face, Fenris grudgingly elaborated: "I barely ever saw her. Danarius rarely spoke to her. She was in disgrace because she had failed to fulfill her duty."

"What duty?"

Fenris did not avert his eyes when he answered. "To produce an heir. With magical abilities, of course."

He thought this explanation would be sufficient for Hawke, but instead it only enraged Hawke more. "Produce an heir?!" he exclaimed. "What, and that was that woman's fault? Did it never occur to Danarius that he might have had plenty of babies if he hadn't been so busy with fucking you?!"

Fenris felt his cheeks grow hot from embarrassment. This was one of the things they should not speak of; a sensitive subject they both shied away from. And now Hawke just threw it out in the open! Blood pounded in his head, making him dizzy. He noticed Feynriel backing away from him before he noticed the glow of his markings. Hawke looked like he regretted his outburst already.

Fenris tried to think, determine how to react. Whether it was because of the lyrium, Hawke's words or simply being back in Minrathous, an old, almost forgotten - no, firmly pushed away - memory forced itself into his mind to be relived. Danarius after his wife had finally carried a child to term, had given birth to a living, breathing baby, and the child turned out to have no magic. It was the only time he had seen the calculated rationality disappear completely from Danarius' eyes. The only time Danarius had beaten him, scorched him, shredded skin with his nails while he took him with an animalistic desperation. The only time that instead of sweat, tears had landed on his bare back.

He sucked in his breath when he finally managed to regain his focus and lock the memory away. When his vision cleared, he saw that he was standing right in front of Hawke, one steel fist clenching his tunic. He could not remember getting closer to Hawke, or grabbing him. Hawke looked very remorseful. Fenris did not want to know what _he_ looked like right now, sweaty and trembling.

Then Claudius' voice cut through tension. "Fascinating as this may be," he interrupted mockingly, "could we perhaps get back to business? If I lend you my aid, I expect something in return."

Fenris saw how Hawke closed his eyes for a few seconds before he freed himself from Fenris' shaking grip and turned to the magister. "I assume you don't want coin?"

"Indeed. I have no need for more gold."

Hawke waited for Claudius to say what he did want but the magister did not continue. Eventually Hawke asked flatly: "What do you want then?"

"Whatever information you find about the ritual, I want you to share it with me."

"And I thought Danarius was an idiot for granting his slave so much power."

"I have no intent to repeat the ritual. That doesn't mean I should remain ignorant. Danarius succeeded where everybody else failed. Consider my interest... professional curiosity. Now, do you agree?"Hawke nodded. "And I want to examine Fenris."

Fenris bared his teeth in a snarl. "I don't think so."

"Deal."

"What?!"

Claudius' dark eyes went from Hawke to Fenris and back, as if he was considering whose word he should rely on. Unsurprisingly, he chose Hawke. "Excellent," he said with a content smile on his face. "I'll see what I can do. We will meet again shortly. In the meantime, visit Danarius' widow and see what you can get out of her. Feynriel can tell you where to find her."

Another nod from Hawke, a little deeper this time, almost like a bow.

"Hawke," Fenris growled. "If you think I will let him-"

"Shut it, Fenris. We'll talk about this later."

Fenris bit his tongue at Hawke's crude reaction. This was unbelievable! After all those promises Hawke was making deals with a magister on his first day in Minrathous, and at Fenris' expense! He was seething with rage and felt his control slipping away with each passing second. The markings burned in his flesh while demons cackled in his head.

Hawke quickly bid magister Claudius goodbye and left the office. Fenris stormed after him. He wanted to yell at Hawke, but Hawke shot him a warning look and subtly gestured with his head in Feynriel's direction, who had closed the door to Claudius' office behind him and was now catching up with them.

"I'm glad he's decided to help you," Feynriel said. He looked relieved. Probably more for his own sake than theirs, Fenris thought.

Hawke smiled a tense smile. "Thank you for your help, Feynriel. I apologize for the way we barged in, but as you understand it's urgent."

"It's alright. I still owe you, Hawke."

"Don't worry about it. You have already done us a big favor. I hope Claudius can convince that other magister to cooperate."

"I bet he will," Feynriel reassured him.

"Can you tell us how to reach Danarius' widow?"

Feynriel explained where she lived. He was just finished by the time they reached the exit. The gigantic doors swung open when they approached. After another quick goodbye Fenris and Hawke were back outside. The sun had set during their time in the Circle. Small magical lights lit up in the evening, spreading a harsh, unnatural light.

When they were out of earshot of the two guards, Hawke opened his mouth. "You're mad. Again."

"You sold me out to the first magister you could find!"

Hawke sighed. Suddenly he looked almost as tired as Fenris felt. "I did not "sell you out"," he objected. "But we had to convince Claudius to help us somehow."

"You betrayed me!"

Hawke halted. "Think about it, Fenris! We are alone here. We have to get people on our side. Magisters won't help us for free. We don't have room for negotiation. Claudius had to believe he would get something that he wants if he aids us. That doesn't mean that he _will_ get it."

Fenris eyed Hawke for a moment while he thought about this explanation. "You would break your word to magister?" he asked skeptically.

Hawke grinned. "Why not? He certainly looked like he was already trying to come up with a way to break his word to us."

That reassured Fenris a little. "It... seems I was too hasty in my reaction," he said awkwardly. "I apologize."

"I need to apologize as well."

Fenris looked away.

"Fenris... What I said... about Danarius... I'm really sorry. I went too far. It's just... for some reason I imagined Danarius as a lonely, sick bastard, and that that was why he..."

_What is it, Damian? You were able to say the word in Claudius' study._

"Do you... do you still not want to talk about it? It's up to you, but maybe... maybe if I know... it will help."

Fenris clenched his jaw to keep every word that would try to escape inside. On this subject he should not and would not breach his silence. Hawke would never understand. The more he knew, the more disgust he would feel. His reaction to finding out that Danarius had had a wife had made that abundantly clear.

 


	10. Chapter 10

"So... what now?" Hawke asked Fenris as they continued their way down the hill. "We have to find a place for the night. Do you know an inn where we could stay?"

"I have never stayed in an inn here before, but we should be able to find several near the docks."

"Alright. Then we go back the way we came." Hawke brushed the hair out of his eyes. "How are you holding up, Fenris? I know being here is difficult for you, and I didn't exactly make it easier either."

"It would have helped if you had not acted like a fool in there."

"Huh? Well, thanks."

Fenris scowled. "Threatening a magister. You realize that if you anger one of them, you risk uniting them all against you."

Hawke glanced at Fenris. "You didn't really give me much to go on. I took a gamble, one I admit was wrong, but I saw no other way. That snake was toying with us. And if what you say was true, we should have achieved that with Danarius. Instead Claudius more or less congratulated us."

Fenris kept his eyes on the road. He did not like it all that he had been used as a tool in another magister's political game. His dealings with Danarius had been personal, meant to break his last bond to the Imperium. Killing Danarius had not been as satisfying as he had hoped, and knowing that he had done the dirty work for another magister soured the memory even more. Both he and his sister had been used. Neither of them had been more than a pawn to the magisters. Maker, he hated this place!

Hawke shot another look at Fenris, seemingly trying to guess his thoughts, but he did not say anything else. Fenris sensed a shift, the renewed formation of distance between them. He knew that Hawke was still thinking about Danarius and he did not want to guess at the things Hawke was imagining. Fenris' refusal to reveal any details did visibly not sit well with Hawke. Fenris in return could not so easily get over the fact that Hawke had agreed to Fenris being examined by Claudius without ever asking for Fenris' consent. It was easy for Hawke to say that they would not keep their end of the bargain. Claudius would not be fooled, and then Fenris was the one to suffer the consequences.

All in all the tension between them failed to lessen on their way back to the docks. 

* * *

They rented a room in a decent inn. It was not so cheap that it was rundown and a meeting place for scum and not so fancy that mages would stay there. The majority of the guests seemed to be traders and merchants.

Hawke ordered two meals and the innkeeper - probably deliberately - directed them to a table in a shadowy corner. Even there Fenris felt the staring eyes of the other guests. The loud conversations had dimmed to a more discrete level after they had entered, and Fenris was surprised to hear not only his own name but Hawke's mentioned as well. It seemed he had underestimated the local interest in the story about Hawke and the Arishok. Years of war with the Qunari had resulted in a deeply ingrained hatred for the horned people. One of the few things ordinary folk and the magisters had in common.  

Hawke showed little interest in the gossiping while he ate. Fenris guessed he was used to strangers saying his name and did not consider it noteworthy, although he was now in a different country and a different city than where he had won fame. Only when their plates were almost empty did Hawke break the silence that hung over their table. "I want to visit Danarius' widow tomorrow... Do you want to come with me?"

Fenris looked at the last vegetables on his plate. He did not feel like eating them anymore. Meeting Illythia was something he would rather avoid, but then Hawke would have to go alone. They should stick together...

"I can go alone, if you don't want to."

Fenris raised his head to meet Hawke's gaze. He was about to say that he indeed did not want to go when he saw something that made him swallow back his decision. Curiosity. Besides genuine concern, he could see the subtle glimmer of curiosity in Hawke's eyes. If Hawke went to see Illythia alone, he would ask about Fenris, try to learn more about his life as a slave. Hawke believed that it would help, that he would be able to understand... but the more he would find out, the worse it would get. A free man, a mage, could not grasp the meaning of being a slave. Fenris did not want pity, he did not want Hawke to see him as Danarius' pet. He wanted to be a free man, and be seen as such. He did not want Hawke's judgment clouded by his interpretation of Fenris' past. Illythia despised him. She would probably tell Hawke exactly how many times Danarius had called Fenris to his bed instead of his wife. And Hawke... he would not be able to take it. Danarius already formed an obstacle between them. So far it was relatively small and could be overcome, but Illythia could make it blow up. Fenris could not let that happen. He could not risk losing what he had with Hawke. Facing Danarius' wife was the far better option.

"No need," he replied quietly. "I will accompany you."

* * *

Illythia's house was a lot smaller than Fenris had expected. It certainly did not qualify as a mansion, which was pretty atrocious to the standards of Tevinter nobility. It was also located outside of the "rich" district where all the magisters and their families resided. Clearly lllythia had lost much with the demise of her husband. _How fortunate for her that slaves barely cost a thing_ , Fenris thought when a young woman with a slave ring around her neck opened the door for them. He did not recognize her from his time with Danarius.

The slave led Hawke and Fenris into the modest foyer, where she told them to wait while she would fetch her mistress.

Illythia made them wait for almost half an hour. Hawke had gotten up from his bench after five minutes and circled the room impatiently. "She's not home," he said after about twenty minutes.

Fenris scoffed. "Oh, she is here. She just enjoys making us wait."

Hawke eyed him from across the other side of the foyer. "How can you be so sure of that?"

"Because that is the only little bit of power she has left, and Tevinter nobles will always use all the power available to them."

"That sounds like all the nobles, not just the Tevinters," Hawke remarked. He made another round through the foyer. "Is she a mage?"

"Naturally."

"A powerful one?"

"To Tevinter standards mediocre, I believe. Magisters usually don't like having a wife as powerful as themselves. Of course having magic is a requirement, due to the greater chance of producing a mage heir."

"Are there no female magisters?"

"There are, although they form a minority. But they are not married to another magister. That would make for too great a weakness. You never know if your spouse will suddenly decide to give you a political backstab."

"I see..." Hawke looked a bit stunned at the possibility of the person you were married to betraying you in such a way. "So the woman we're about to meet - when she's done fooling around - has no political role whatsoever? Then she probably can't tell us anything."

 _Can't or won't. Makes no difference either way_. "Apart from stemming from the old families that rule the Imperium, she is of no true political importance. Danarius likely married her because her dowry made him one of the wealthiest magisters."

"Why are you in my house?!" Hawke quickly turned around at the accusing words, but they were not directed at him. Fenris rose to his feet in a swift movement, hoping that it did not look like he jumped. Illythia strode into the room, her dark brown eyes on Fenris. She completely ignored Hawke as she marched past him to the subject her anger was focused on. To Tevinter standards she was quite tall, nearly the same height as Fenris. Her hair fell in perfect curls over her shoulders. The dark red of henna hid every possible grey strand, but the same tactic could not be used for her face. Though she was at least ten years younger than Danarius, her age was starting to show. The passing of time had etched fine lines around her eyes and mouth, which she had tried to hide underneath a mask of makeup. The red used for her lips was too bright and only drew attention to her thinning mouth and the ageing skin around it. The paint on her eyes and eyebrows could have veiled part of her thoughts and emotions if her fury had not burned right through it.

"How _dare_ you show your face here, you ungrateful dog!" Illythia hissed when she came to a halt in front of Fenris. "I did not believe my slave when she described my guest. You murder my husband - your rightful master - and now you come knocking at my door? After everything he has done for you! How come they haven't arrested you yet? A slave who kills his own master should be executed! The guards will hear of this, I'll make sure of that! You will spend every minute of the rest of your miserable life regretting that you ever set foot in the Imperium again." Her hand shot out like a claw. Fenris, anticipating that she might try to scratch at his eyes quickly bent his head to the side to evade her, but Illythia had aimed lower and got a firm hold on his neck.

Her fury burned like a red-hot iron. The markings eagerly absorbed what was given to them, conducting the fire despite the pain. It left Fenris unable to move. For a moment the agony numbed even the voices of the demons in his head, then her hand was suddenly gone.

He stumbled backwards against the wooden bench he had been sitting on and fell on top of it. Only when the darkness had retreated to the edges of his field of vision did Fenris see Illythia hovering a few inches above the ground. Her shoulders were forced back, her arms pressed against her sides. Her head hung back and her mouth was opened in a soundless shout. The crushing prison of kinetic energy held her helplessly trapped.

It was never a good idea to ignore Hawke.

"That's quite enough," Hawke said from his side of the foyer. With his staff in his right hand he approached Illythia. When he stood in front of her he spoke again. "Fenris is here as a free man. You will not hurt him. I am sorry for your loss, but to be honest I think you're better off without Danarius. He was a sick son of a bitch and we are here to try to undo the mess he created. If you tell us what we need to know we will never bother you again." With a simple movement of his staff he undid the spell. Illythia slumped to the ground now that her muscles were allowed to relax. Hawke stretched out a hand to help her get up, but she looked at it as if it was the most disgusting thing she had ever seen and got to her feet without aid.

"So you've found yourself a barbarian as your new master," she spat. "Typical. Vermin will seek out other vermin. To the void with you both!" Fire erupted from her fingertips, but before it could reach its target Hawke had erected a massive wall of ice between them. All the fireball's energy was used up by the time it had burned through the ice and disappeared without doing damage. The ice spikes, which were pointing in Illythia's direction, melted and came down on her head in a single cold wave. Illythia stared in bewilderment at the lack of burned flesh, her perfect hair and dress soaked.

"I guess I'm more than mediocre to Tevinter standards," Hawke said cheerfully. "Now, because you don't appear to be in the mood to entertain guests, I'll come straight to business. Has Danarius left you anything that is related to the ritual that created Fenris' markings?"

"Left me?" She started shaking, from cold or anger, or both. Goosebumps covered her bare arms. "Do you think that Danarius has "left" me anything? That I am here of my own volition and for my own pleasure? You believe it my choice to live here? As soon as message of my husband's death reached us, the senate reclaimed ownership of the mansion and everything inside it. This was accommodation meant for a magister, they said, and with that it became Gaius' property. I could have inherited personal belonging if my husband had left a will, but he did not anticipate falling by the hands of a slave, so I'm left with nothing."

Hawke looked around the room. "I would hardly call this nothing."

He only received an angry stare in return. Illythia then turned her attention back to Fenris. "Why did you do it?" she asked, her voice suddenly soft. "How could you? Danarius gave you so much... His eyes sought you more often than me. What gave you the right to murder him?" Her voice rose. "I _despise_ you. Would that I had what you seek so I could turn it to ashes before your very eyes! Now get out of my sight!"

Fenris pushed himself back up from the bench. His markings were still throbbing painfully from Illythia's treatment. He did not have to look to know the lyrium was spreading its blue light. He took one slow step forward, his gaze pinning the woman in front of him on her spot. Another step; his toes came in contact with cold water. Hawke's hand touched his arm to stop him, but Fenris shrugged him off.

_"Kill her."_

_"Tear her head off."_

_"That will be fun!"_

_Oh, it would._

Illythia's anger wavered and disappeared as she realized how near death was to her now. With the loss of anger, her pride died as well. She was no longer the impressive woman she had tried to be, with her delicate curls turned into wet strands, her layer of makeup dripping off of her face and her dress sticking to her body to reveal the shape of breasts and hips. Her eyes were round while she watched Fenris taking a third step, which brought him very close to her, closer than she would ever allow a slave to be. He heard her breath hitch.

For a few seconds he did nothing, enjoying the buildup of tension, the power he held now that he was free. He would not bow his head and crawl out of sight like she wanted him to. Not anymore.

"He deserved it." He was so close to her that the words brushed against her face. Then he abruptly turned around and left the house.

 

 

Hawke caught up with him before he had reached the end of the street.

"That didn't go very well," he said, audibly disappointed. "I thought you were going to kill her."

_"So did I."_

_"Such a pity."_

_"Coward."_

"Would you have tried to stop me?"

"I hadn't quite decided yet."

_Then you were already too late._

"At least we know she has no information."

"Unless she was lying."

"You heard her. She would have liked to burn it in front of us."

"Couldn't  she be a very good liar?"

"She isn't."

"If you say so." Hawke sighed. "I don't know if I should be relieved or disappointed that she doesn't know anything. Now Gaius' permission to investigate his mansion seems our only chance."

"If he indeed gives permission."

"He will likely profit from it too if we find anything. He has nothing to lose, only a little bit of privacy. Hey, Fenris, slow down! Are you alright? Did she hurt you badly?"

"I've endured worse."

"You're still glowing."

"I know," he said through gritted teeth. "I can't stop it."

"Then hold on a moment. Running is not likely to help." Hawke managed to get a hold on Fenris' arm, which powered up the markings even more, and pulled him to a halt. Fenris tried to calm himself, calm the markings, but they ignored his will.

_"You can still go back to kill her."_

_"Or you can kill_ him _. He's annoying."_

Hawke's voice cut through the ongoing voices in his head. "Fenris. Fenris, look at me." The hand moved from Fenris' arm to the side of his head and was joined by the second hand on the other side. Together they forced his head to turn towards Hawke's face. His eyes still tried to flee, darting away from the piercing blue eyes that attempted to meet them. "Are you hearing the demons?"

_"Kill them all."_

"Fenris!" Reluctantly he forced himself to look at Hawke. It took even more effort to formulate a reply.

"Yes."

"It's okay. Try to relax. You're doing well. You didn't kill her. You're in control. Breathe." Fenris felt magic flow from Hawke's hands through the lyrium. The healing spell eased the burning of his markings and helped calming them. After a few breaths he managed to deactivate them. With it the demons became less loud as well. Now that he could relax a bit he noticed how stiff with tension he had been. His muscles felt strained, as if he had wielded his sword for hours.

_I'm tired. Why am I so tired?_

Hawke still had not let him go, holding Fenris' face firmly with both hands. Only when Fenris tried to pull free did Hawke release him. "Better?"

Fenris nodded weakly.

_"Just give in."_

_"This is getting tedious."_

"Don't worry," Hawke said firmly. "We will have the solution soon."


	11. Chapter 11

Because they had nothing else to do they decided to pay another visit to the Circle, in case Claudius had already had word with Gaius, but this time they were turned away at the door and the mentioning of Hawke's name did not change that. The Champion of Kirkwall yelled at the stoic guards for some time before he gave up and turned away in frustration.

"What shall we do now?" he asked Fenris. "Care to show me around the city for a bit?"

"I... could do that." Fenris had to do his best to let his mind function through the fog that smothered coherent thoughts. Despite Hawke's quick healing the markings still bothered him. Echoes of Illythia's spell coursed through the lyrium, sustaining the burning sensation. At least he had regained control of them: he was no longer emanating a blue light. If only he could also regain control of his mind. It was not even noon, yet sleep was pulling at his consciousness.

_"Sleep."_

_"Come to us."_

_No. I've managed for years with a few hours of sleep each night. There's no reason that should change now. I will not do anything you want._

One of the demon's laughed. _"Except you won't be able to resist soon."_

 _Lies_. Fenris shook his head to combat the weariness and looked at Hawke. "Where would you like to go?"

* * *

A week passed before they were finally allowed back into the Tevinter Circle again. They had made the trek up the hill each day, often even twice a day. The guards rolled their eyes as soon as they caught sight of Hawke and Fenris but refused to let them in or give any indication when they could meet Claudius again. Hawke and Fenris were starting to lose hope that Claudius would live up to his word when on the seventh day the guards made the gesture that opened the doors and stepped aside. "Magister Claudius wishes to see you within an hour."

Fenris did not feel as hopeful as Hawke looked. That Claudius wanted to see them after a week of silence only meant that the magisters had decided how to deal with them. Whether that would be in their advantage was highly questionable.

Because the building was busier during the middle of day, they decided to wait in front of Claudius' office. They both thought it better not to draw too much attention. Illythia's reaction had made Hawke more careful around the rest of Tevinter's elite. Apparently he had realized nobody would help them out of the kindness of their black heart. Neither of them had brought up the failed meeting with Danarius' widow. Hawke was remarkably quiet on the subject of Danarius and Fenris' past. That would have been fine by Fenris, if he had not had the idea that Hawke was thinking about it often and was caught more than once looking at Fenris with forbidden questions in his eyes.

Fenris' belief that people with power used that power whenever they got the chance was once again proven true, as Claudius made them wait for more than an hour before he opened the door to his office and beckoned them to come in. Surprisingly there were three chairs placed in the room, one on Claudius' side of the desk and two on the opposite side. Fenris could not recall he had ever been allowed to take a seat in the presence of magisters. Hawke simply sat down and leaned against the back of his chair. A chair was a chair as far as he was concerned. When Fenris sat down, it was on the edge of his seat and his muscles prepared to jump back up if the situation required it. Everything that did not match his expectations was reason for suspicion.

Claudius moved in the same nonchalant - yet elegant - manner as the previous time they had met. He strolled around his desk and seated himself as if his chair was actually a throne. "So," he began. "I trust you've had a pleasant stay so far? What do you think of our beautiful city?"

Hawke looked at the magister with irritation. "I am not here to play tourist, as you very well know," he bit back. "Yet you let the guards keep me out for a week to prove that you are in charge. Well, you've had your amusement. Now be so kind to get to the point and tell us if Gaius has agreed to allow us into his mansion."

Claudius raised his dark eyebrows at this shocking lack of civility. "I see your manners have not improved despite a week in the most civilized city of Thedas." He shook his head. "Very well, I won't keep you in suspense much longer. But first..." he leaned a bit forward. "Could you explain to me why my niece came to see me, nearly hysterical and claiming that two people had tried to kill her?"

"Danarius' widow is family of yours?" Hawke let out a sigh. "Why am I not surprised? Well, I can assure you that if either of us wanted her death, she would not have been able to run to you after our visit." Hawke smiled a smile that was supposed to look modest, but in Claudius' face became the opposite.

The magister remained calm. "Be that as it may, she vocally asked for your arrest and execution, especially of Fenris here..."

Sensing an ambush, Fenris wanted to jump to his feet and pull his weapon, but Claudius' eyes pinned him in his chair. Fenris was not entirely convinced that magic had been used to keep him in place. The unquestionable authority that radiated from this magister made disobedience near impossible. Slowly Claudius' mouth curved into a smile that made it perfectly clear that he was in complete control. Hawke's smile had been a grimace in comparison. "Rest assured, I have made it clear to Illythia that you are currently guests of the Imperium and therefore will not be arrested... nor executed."

 _He must really want the secret of the markings._ Next to him, Hawke relaxed in his chair, but Fenris was not so easily reassured. You could not trust anything a magister said, and it was obvious that Claudius could always conveniently change his mind. They were guests as long as he said so, and not a second longer.

"But I'm afraid I have some bad news as well," Claudius continued. "Unfortunately magister Gaius has declined your request to search his home."

Fenris was not very surprised about that, but since Claudius seemed set on recovering the necessary information about the ritual it made little sense. It was possible that Gaius hoped to find the information himself and not share it with rivals like Claudius, but Gaius was a new magister, the replacer of Danarius. Certainly Claudius could apply enough pressure to let this junior member of the Senate do his bidding? Starting off with Claudius as your enemy was not the best start of your career.

"Why not?" The question came from Hawke.

Claudius spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "It is not my place to question a colleague's decisions. It is his home, so it is within his right to deny access." Their visible disappointment brought a new smile to the magister's face. "Ah, but do not despair my friends! Not all is lost. You still have a chance, albeit a risky one."

Hawke immediately took the bait. "Tell us."

Now it was the magister who leaned back in his chair and Hawke eagerly leaning forward. "Because I sympathize with your cause, I have laid your case before the Archon, and he has agreed that the circumstances require a certain amount of compassion. Therefore he has granted permission for you to compete with magister Gaius for his belongings in an official duel."

Hawke only hesitated for a moment before he agreed. "If that's what it takes, I'll duel him."

An approving smile from Claudius. "Excellent! This will be quite the spectacle I'm sure. I shall draw up the terms of the duel immediately. Now, your winnings will be Gaius' mansion and everything in it. Of course Gaius should gain something from victory as well."

Fenris froze in his chair. Everything was back to making sense again. None of the magisters were out to help them. They were only interested in Danarius' ritual and the single successful subject. If there was an easy way to acquire both they would take it. A duel allowed them to get rid of Hawke and claim ownership of Fenris at the same time, and all completely legal at that.

Claudius' dark brown eyes carefully measured Fenris' reaction. Fenris did his best to keep his face emotionless, but could not prevent beads of sweat forming across his brow. The demons made no attempt to hide their amusement.

"I take it Gaius doesn't want coin either?"

Claudius wrote something on the parchment. "I think we both know that you can't possibly find enough coin to match the value of Gaius' estate." He looked up, this time focusing on Hawke. "Fenris should be worth enough."

A heavy silence fell. They were cornered. The offer demanded too much. Their hope of finding what they needed was crushed. "Fenris is worth as much as an estate complete with household?" Hawke sounded like he could barely believe it.

"He is," Claudius acknowledged.

Fenris bit his lip. It was not surprising it all. He had known from the beginning that going to Tevinter would be no good. He turned his eyes to Hawke to share their disappointment, their defeat, but what he saw when he met Hawke's gaze made his blood turn to ice. Looking into Hawke's eyes was like looking over the edge of a ravine. It was facing a vast emptiness, despair without boundaries, and Fenris knew with terrible certainty: _he is going to agree._

"Damian, no."

"I don't like it either, Fenris, but what choice do we have? If you have something in your pockets that is worth enough to bet against a complete mansion I would love to hear it, because I've got nothing."

"My freedom is not yours to bargain with!"

"Hey, I am the one to risk his life in a duel!"

"I would gladly trade places with you," Fenris growled.

"I'm sorry, but I see no alternative. If you do, I will eagerly seize it."

Fenris' mind worked feverishly to come up with an escape, but he could not think of anything. They could break into Gaius' mansion - he knew the way - but he had no idea where Danarius could have hidden notes on the ritual, so they would need time to search the place. Time they would not have. If they refused the duel the magisters would be suspicious and be sure to guard the place heavily. They would likely do that if they agreed to the duel as well... It would be impossible to remain unnoticed long enough to find what they were looking for. Leaving Minrathous and the Imperium would be the only alternative, and Fenris had to admit that their chances of finding a solution for the unstable markings were pretty slim. He clenched his fingers around the edges of his seat. "There is always a choice," he insisted. "We could leave. I told you nobody here would aid us."

"We can't leave. Fenris, don't you see? If we do nothing this will not end well. You are losing control. I... I fear you won't survive if we don't fix this."

And there it was. The truth from Hawke. Fenris swallowed heavily. It was not that he had not realized himself that his markings were an increasing danger, but to hear it confirmed by Hawke... He felt trapped, cornered by the man he loved and a Tevinter magister. Pushed in the direction of what seemed like the only solution, but with such a high price attached. Was anything worth the risk of slavery? Would he not rather die than be chained once more?

"I will not be a slave again," he croaked.

"But you won't! I won't lose, I promise. I can defeat Gaius and I will." Hawke placed a hand on Fenris' knee. "Believe in me. Trust me. Please."

If Hawke lost, it would mean his death. Fenris would be a slave again. How could his life be worth such a risk? He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. The words he had spoken to Hawke not long after Danarius' death welled up in him. _Nothing can be worse than the thought of living without you._ He had put his faith in Hawke many times before, and Hawke had never let him down. Hawke asked to trust him in this, trust that he would win the duel. Trust in Hawke to fight. Hawke could fight like no other. Fenris had witnessed many of Hawke's battles in which the odds were strongly in the opponent's favor. Hawke had always won.

With a deep breath, Fenris opened his eyes. "Alright," he said. _I am going to regret this._

Hawke gave a quick squeeze in Fenris' leg before he sat upright and spoke to Claudius. "Agreed. Fenris for Gaius' estate and everything in it."

_"See how quick he is to gamble with you."_

_"He happily trades you for a heap of stones."_

Claudius flashed his broadest smile and immediately wrote something down.

_"You don't believe he cares about you, do you?"_

_"You are alone."_

"The duel is to the death?" Hawke asked.

"Not necessarily," Claudius replied smoothly. "The victor is usually known before the death of one of the duelists. One can always surrender, but it is up to the victor to decide whether to accept such a surrender or to deal the final blow. In your case... well, would you like to have a very vengeful, homeless magister as your enemy?"

Hawke nodded. "I understand. To the death it is then."

The magister chuckled softly. "I begin to see how you could defeat the Arishok."

"What about blood magic?"

Claudius put down his quill and folded his arms in front of his chest. "Why, blood magic is forbidden, naturally."

"Gaius will not use blood magic during the duel?"

"No magister would dream of such a thing! I don't know what wild tales you have heard about us in your barbaric lands, but I guarantee you that you will not see a magister slit his wrists in the arena during an official duel."

"If Gaius does draw blood to fuel his spells, other magisters will intervene?"

Claudius' face flushed red. "The nerve to hammer on such a subject! I repeat: the use of blood magic is illegal in the Imperium, and the punishments for using it during a duel will be severe. Have I addressed your concerns to your satisfaction now?"

Hawke glanced at Fenris before he replied. "I suppose."

Claudius snorted and picked up his quill again. "Good. Well, I'll make sure the request for a duel between you and Gaius is submitted to the Archon for official approval. You will be notified about the exact date and time, but if everything goes according to plan the duel will take place two months from now."

"Two months?!" Hawke erupted. "Are you trying to make everything this difficult on purpose? We can't wait that long. We need that information as soon as possible! Do you expect me to just twiddle my thumbs for two months?"

Claudius did not look up from his parchment. "A duel should be supervised by the entire Senate, including the Archon. We all have many duties and thus a busy schedule. Two months is the shortest possible waiting period. But if you cannot appreciate the effort we put into fulfilling your request as soon as possible, perhaps we shall follow the regular procedure and hold the duel in a year or so? You are not a Tevinter citizen. Perhaps it will not be approved at all."

Fenris could see Hawke shake in his chair with frustration, but once again Claudius left them no choice. Admitting his defeat, Hawke hung his head. "Two months it is." 

* * *

"Your opponent will use blood magic," Fenris said as they walked through the Circle's hall to the library. Hawke wanted to see Feynriel after their talk with Claudius.

Hawke did not question what Fenris said. "How?" he simply asked. "Claudius pretty much swore that Gaius will not use his blood. Was he lying?"

Fenris tried to recall as much as possible of the duels he had witnessed. Danarius had disapproved of such events and had rarely accepted a challenge, and though the magister had been forced to watch the duels of others with his colleagues, Fenris had paid no attention to what was happening in the arena because it was his job to guard his master. All in all he knew little about the tricks used in a duel, except that magic was involved - which was only logical of course.

"If he was not outright lying, he was at least being dishonest."

"Great, but that's not very helpful. I need to know what I can expect so that I can prepare."

"Nervous?"

Hawke made an irritated noise, but because they neared the main library he did not answer.  

It was easy to find Feynriel: he was sitting at the same table as before. Hawke grabbed the young mage's arm to pull him up and lead him behind a row of bookcases.

"Hawke! Good to see you again. But what is-"

"We've just talked to Claudius," Hawke interrupted. "I'm to duel Gaius for his mansion. If I lose, he gets Fenris."

Feynriel's jaw dropped. "What?" he gasped. "But... my master promised he would help you! I don't understand... you're not from here. Can they even do that?"

Fenris rolled his eyes. "Do not act so surprised. By now the magisters must have taught you only to care about yourself."

"Easy, Fenris," Hawke reprimanded. "None of this is Feynriel's fault." To Feynriel, he said: "I'm certain that I can win the duel, but I have to know what I'm up against. Claudius claims that blood magic is absolutely forbidden and that Gaius will not use it. Is that true?"

Feynriel nervously scanned his surroundings before he replied in a hushed voice: "I can't talk about that here. Where are you staying? I'll come visit you in a few days." Raising his voice, he exclaimed: "No respectable magister would even consider the use of forbidden magic in a duel. I advise you not to ask such questions again."

Hawke gave a nod that he understood the situation. "The 'golden whale' inn," he whispered back. Then he turned around and strode away, nearly bumping into an apprentice who suddenly needed a book from the shelves they had been standing behind. Shaking his head, Fenris followed him. _Nothing is ever easy._


	12. Chapter 12

Back in their room at the inn Fenris sat down on the edge of the double bed he and Hawke shared. During the whole way back he had continuously struggled with a wild mix of panic, rage, sadness and aggression, fueled by the demons. His voice was rough when he spoke. "So you believe I will not survive," he said to his toes.

"Only if we leave. The answers we need are here."

"You don't know that."

Instead of taking a seat next to him, Hawke knelt behind Fenris on the bed. Two warm hands, tingling with magic, stroked the back of Fenris' neck. "I swear to you," Hawke's voice sounded close to his ear, "I will not let you die. Two more months and then all will be alright. Just hold on for two months. Do you think you can do that?"

The lyrium hummed in approval when one hand traced Fenris' spine. "Do I have a choice?"

"Please hold on."

Fenris allowed his head to rest against Hawke's chest. "I will." He closed his eyes, allowing all his frustrations to be soothed away by Hawke's gentle caress.

The hand had reached his tailbone and now encircled his waist and moved on to his thigh. Fenris groaned softly when Hawke's tongue traced the shell of his ear. At the same time the hand shifted to his inner thigh. Desire rushed through him and momentarily drove away the weariness.

_"Take him."_

_"Tear him open."_

Fenris' eyes flew open. _Fooled again._ This was nothing but a trick of the demons. They toyed with his feelings, twisting them to suit their own desires. He could not give in to that. He could not risk hurting Hawke like he had before. Against his back he could feel Hawke's heartbeat, a clear reminder of the previous time he had let the demons control him without realizing. Fenris grabbed Hawke's hand and roughly pulled it away before he pushed himself up and got unsteadily to his feet. "Don't touch me."

"Ow! What is your problem?" Hawke stared at the scratches that Fenris' gauntlets had left on his hand.

Fenris took a few steps away from the bed. "I don't want to."

Hawke shot an emphatic look at the bulge in Fenris' breeches and mockingly raised his eyebrows. "You don't want to," he echoed.

The way Hawke was sitting on the bed, his hair hanging loose around his face, light blue eyes shining with hurt but annoyance as well, made Fenris regret his crude rejection. _I want him_. He wished he could crawl back on the bed, into Hawke's embrace, but because he also wished to sink his teeth into Hawke's bare neck and bite until he tasted blood, Fenris kept his distance. "I... need some air," he muttered.

"No, Fenris, wait!" Hawke scrambled off the bed and lunged forward to get hold of Fenris' arm. "We're not repeating that nonsense of the past three years! I've had more than enough of that. If you have something to say, say it."

Hawke's hand burned on the markings, or the markings burned against Hawke's hand - either way, the lyrium flared and pulsated and the demons cackled and rattled until Fenris was feeling dizzy.

_"He wants to give you away."_

_"Slave for sale!"_

Breathing heavily through his nose, Fenris freed his arm from Hawke's grip. "I told you not to touch me! If you want your heart and everything else in place, listen for once!"

Hawke let his arms fall back to his sides. "I am making it worse, am I not?" he asked. "How bad is it?"

"It's..." Fenris tried to calm the burning markings. With Hawke's touch gone, he slowly succeeded. When he brought a hand to his forehead he felt his hair sticking against the sweaty skin. "It's better now," he finished his sentence.

"Two months?" Hawke suggested with a wry smile.

Fenris nodded as he exhaled slowly, averting his eyes in embarrassment. He expected Hawke to move away, but when he glanced up he was startled to discover Hawke was standing closer to him now. He opened his mouth to scold Hawke for refusing to use his damn sense when Hawke raised one hand and briefly brushed Fenris' cheek, careful not to near the lyrium on his chin. "What's two months compared to three years, eh?" Hawke said jokingly. "Just know that I'll be counting the days."

Fenris managed to produce a smile in return - at least the corners of his mouth went up. "As will I." 

* * *

Feynriel kept his promise and visited them three days later. Though Fenris was not fond of the younger mage, his visit did serve as a welcome break from the tension that was caused by the long wait ahead of them. Two months passed slowly in a foreign country where they had not much to do except waiting. Hawke seemed especially frustrated that he was forced to do nothing until the day of the duel. That Fenris was withdrawn and mostly kept his distance further dampened Hawke's spirit. Despite the fact that their short talk had prevented a misunderstanding they mostly treated each other in a reserved manner.

Hawke's mood improved significantly when he greeted Feynriel. He let him in with a smile. "I'm glad you're here," Hawke said. "Have a seat."

Feynriel sat down in one of the two chairs standing near the small table. Hawke took the other chair. Fenris, who had been lying on the bed, forced himself to pay attention and sit upright.

"I wanted to come sooner," Feynriel said while Hawke poured him something to drink. "But I feared that would raise suspicion. Everybody already knows I'm a friend of you, so if I had gone to you on the same day you challenged a magister for a duel, I would have certainly been followed. Now that the first shock has worn off, I hope it's safer."

"Is it really that dangerous for you to talk to us?" Hawke asked.

"I'm not sure. I don't think so. But certain topics are... risky."

"Like blood magic."

"Like blood magic," Feynriel acknowledged.

Hawke leaned over the table. "Every piece of information will help," he said eagerly. "Will Gaius use his blood and the magisters simply pretend not seeing it?"

"No, no, they would not get away with that. It would cause panic among the common public, and blood magic truly is seen as something that should not be used lightly." Feynriel paused for a moment before he continued. "I have only witnessed a few duels so far. I don't know if they all do it and whether Gaius will do it, but I have seen one magister use blood magic." Another pause.

From his spot on the bed, Fenris grumbled. "Quit stalling and tell us what you know before I lose my patience, mage."

Feynriel sighed. "I saw him use the blood of one of his slaves. The slave was standing in the crowd with a cut in his hand. It was pure coincidence that I saw it. The slave was among the plebs, but I was delayed and arrived when the duel had already started. When I made my way through the crowd... I saw the blood."

"Vishante kaffas!" Fenris cursed. "That's magisters for you! Always using others as their tools."

Hawke rubbed his chin while he thought about what Feynriel had just told them. "Any chance that the other magisters truly had no idea?"

"Unlikely." Feynriel shook his head. "I'm not an expert, but several spells that were used appeared to be spells that can only be cast using blood. If they were not certain, they must at least have their suspicions. I don't think they all do this," he hastened to add when he saw Fenris' face. "I haven't seen anything unusual during the duel of my master, for instance."

"Ever seen a duel that involved Gaius?"

"No. I do not know magister Gaius very well, but I believe he is uneager to try to gain something in the arena. He is better suited for intrigue. He has a lot of connections and powerful allies."

"Yet he will fight me," Hawke said. "So, do you believe he will use blood magic in the duel?"

Feynriel hesitated a few seconds. "Yes," he admitted eventually. "I think he will."

"Very well." Hawke puffed up his cheeks. "I've fought blood mages before, but never alone. I can probably dispel a few of his spells but if he's fast that won't be enough. Is there a way to stop the blood magic permanently? Before I manage to kill Gaius, that is."

"You'll need to block his access to the slave's life blood. Healing the wound would be sufficient."

"Do I look like I have been made the way I am to serve as a nurse?" Fenris snapped. "At most I could offer a health poultice and bandage the wound."

"That won't be enough," Feynriel said. "The injury should be completely healed. I could do it, but Claudius has already made it clear that he wants me by his side during the duel. I cannot go into the crowd and look for the slave."

"And I can't do it either, because I'll be busy with the duel itself." Hawke scratched his chin again. "So, no healing. Any other options?"

Feynriel made an unhappy face. "The only alternative I can think of is kill the slave, preferably without increasing the blood spilled. In theory the death of his victim could fuel a very powerful spell, but if Gaius doesn't see it coming it may catch him by surprise. That way he won't have enough time to use the power that is released and it will be lost to him."

Fenris watched Hawke inhale deeply before he slowly nodded. "If that is what it takes... Okay. While I duel Gaius, Fenris searches the crowd for the slave that is being drained and kills him, so that I can finish Gaius."

_"Fine plan!"_

"And what if Fenris doesn't wish to kill the slave?" Fenris said through gritted teeth.

Hawke's blue eyes met Fenris' angry stare. "Then Fenris will have to consent to me being dead and him being a slave himself again."

"You do realize that you are only acting on _his_ ," he pointed to Feynriel, "word in this. What if he is not telling the truth?"

"Well, then there won't be any bleeding slaves in the crowd that have to be killed, will there? I doubt people will go watch a duel while they're suffering from an open wound. "

"What happened to your reassurances that you will win this duel? Now it suddenly depends on the death of one slave?"

"I am convinced that I can defeat that magister, yes. But for that it has to be a fair fight. I can assure you I will drop dead quickly if Gaius can simply make my blood boil in my veins. No shield will block that kind of magic."

"What if he uses more than one of his slaves as his personal source of power?"

Hawke looked at Feynriel, indicating that he should answer Fenris' question. "That's possible but highly unlikely. The use of several subjects would only be required for spells of greater scope. Blood magic is considerably more powerful than magic based on mana, so you need less of it to get the same effect. A blood magic spell that is meant to kill someone doesn't require that much blood - I mean, I assume it doesn't. Hiding more than one wounded slave in the crowd would be of no direct use and only increase the risk of discovery."

"Discovery you say," Hawke said. "Could we present the wounded slave to the other magisters as proof of Gaius' foul play?"

"I'm afraid you won't have enough time for that. Finding the slave will be difficult enough..."

"... and if Fenris gets the slave in front of the magisters they might still pretend not to see until I'm dead and it's too late, or they dismiss what it could mean." Hawke sighed. "No other options then. Fenris..."

"No, Damian. I will not..."

Hawke cut off the start of his protest. "Listen, I know I can't force you to do anything, so I won't try to. When the time to act comes the choice will be yours. I assure you that I will do my best to defeat Gaius either way, and I truly hope that I will be able to succeed without the need to harm an innocent. But if the magister manages to ensnare me with blood magic... well, as I said, the choice will be yours. Either I die and you become someone's property again, or the slave dies."

"You are blackmailing me."

Hawke massaged his temples as he spoke. "I am doing no such thing. I merely informed you of your options. I can't help it that they're limited."

Fenris pressed his lips together and said nothing. _So this was how it was going to be then?_ he thought. _Mage against mage, slave against slave?_ He looked down at his hands, not clad in steel at the moment. _I have carved my way to freedom in blood._ It seemed there would be no end to the killing as long as he wished to remain free. As long as he wished to live. According to Hawke that would not be long. Fenris made a grasping motion with his fingers. The lyrium, that reached all the way to his fingertips, caused a throbbing, burning ache. The markings had always caused him a certain degree of discomfort, but he could not deny that the pain had slowly become sharper and more severe as the markings grew more unstable. He grimaced at his fingers. _What has been done to me I have done to myself._ The markings had been his price, the price he had paid for the freedom of his mother and sister. A dead mother and a sister who spat on freedom and his sacrifice. And he had killed Danarius. Because he had to, he had to have his revenge, he had to make sure he would not be hunted anymore. And the price for that was his own life. He heard laughter and was unsure if it came from one of the demons, or that Danarius was snickering with glee from the Beyond. His former master had every reason to laugh. Soon he would have his revenge as well. Fenris forced his hand to form a fist. His whole life he had been tied to Danarius. So much so that Danarius' death was causing Fenris' decay and inevitable demise. _One can't live without the other._ His mouth twisted into a grimace again. He was certain he had read that sentence in one of Hawke's books in a completely different context. A less sickening one.

Hawke and Feynriel continued to discuss the details of the duel and did not involve Fenris into the conversation anymore. Fenris hardly cared. He remained seated on the bed and silently watched Hawke talk. Hawke or the slave. He did not have to fool himself. He knew what he would choose when forced to do so. But that did not make it easy. That did not make it any less selfish to place his own life and that of Hawke above that of somebody else, somebody who was just another victim of the magisters and their tyranny.

The conversation between Hawke and Feynriel came to an end. As both got up from their chair, Hawke shook Feynriel's hand. "I cannot thank you enough for the information you have given me," he said earnestly. "This will likely secure our victory."

Modestly Feynriel bowed his head, a smile on his lips. "I'm happy to help. It's still nothing compared to what you have done for me. Perhaps we can meet again later this week? If you'd like."

"Sounds good. We have to find some way to pass the time."

"Then I'll see you again. Good day." Feynriel nodded to Fenris. "Fenris."

Fenris did not nod in return but simply stared at the blond mage until he had left the room. After he had closed the door Hawke sat back down in his chair and placed his feet on the table. "What is it?" he asked while he began to remove dirt from under his fingernails.

"I do not trust him."

Hawke did not look up from his nails. "And why is that?"

"He is a mage and-"

"Alright, stop right there." Now Hawke did look at Fenris. "If your argument is going to come down to the untrustworthiness of mages, I advise you to save your breath. There's a mage right here in this room and he does not have to hear _again_ how magic is a curse and that all mages will eventually succumb to their inner cravings of power."

Fenris folded his arms. "I was not going to say that," he remarked sourly. "Feynriel is not just _any_ mage, he is a somniari and has been living in the Imperium for several years now. He has received education in their ways and undoubtedly considers Minrathous his home now. That means he is one of _them_ and not on our side."

"Feynriel is one of _us_. He is the only one here I know we can trust. He has come here today to help us. He is not a magister, and he is not from Tevinter."

"He does seem to know an awful lot about blood magic," Fenris countered.

"He lives in Tevinter now! Of course he has heard about blood magic. That doesn't mean he is a blood mage himself."

Fenris threw his hands in the air in a sign of defeat. "Fine!" he snapped. "Let us hope you are not misplacing your trust again. You have already learned the hard way that not every mage is as strong as you." Muttering under his breath, he added: "Festis bei umo canavarum."

"No," Hawke said quietly. "I am doing everything I can to prevent your death. It is the thing I want to cause the least of all."


	13. Chapter 13

Two months crept by slowly. Reluctantly, Tevinter let go of the last memory of summer's warmth. Winter approached and blew cold promises through the streets of Minrathous. Hawke fared better in the colder climate and moved energetically, whereas Fenris felt more and more drained. He slept many hours each night, yet continued to feel the crushing weight of fatigue during the day. In addition the demons were relentless in their assault on his mind and the markings made it a habit to flare up at random moments. Fenris slipped back into his old habit of living by the day, with no expectations for tomorrow. His focus was on making it through each day, not wasting energy on hoping. Hawke's presence should make it less lonely, but it only reminded Fenris constantly of how hard he had to try to hold back and control himself.

When the day of the duel finally arrived it came as a surprise to Fenris that he actually had made it. In the morning he was woken up by Hawke, who shook him carefully. The touch pulled Fenris away from a dark dream. It had not been a nightmare, not really, but neither had it been pleasant. Danarius had been there, and he had laughed. He had laughed until he bent over, clutching his stomach and tears streaming over his face. The magister had laughed and laughed, unable to stop, until Fenris awoke.

He cracked one eye open to see a blurry Hawke leaning over him. Fenris closed his eye again and rolled onto his other side to sleep for a while longer, but he was being shaken once more.

"Get up, Fenris," Hawke said gently. "The duel's today. We still have several hours before it begins, but I'd rather we have time to prepare."

Groaning, Fenris wrestled himself up. "Prepare for what?" he grumbled. "Killing a slave? That hardly requires preparation."

"Perhaps the slave will fight back?"

"They will place a sheep among sheep, not a wolf."

"Well, this wolf can better get dressed then." Assured that Fenris was awake now, Hawke straightened and walked away from the bed. Fenris, legs still tangled in the sheets, stiffened.

"Do not call me that," he mumbled to Hawke's back.

Hawke did not appear to have heard him. Fenris noticed that he was already dressed and ready for the duel in the afternoon. He had purchased two pairs of trousers and a couple of tunics on the market of Minrathous and was now wearing a dark blue shirt and black trousers. The fabric was of decent, though simple, quality. Hawke had worn more expensive robes during his time as a noble in Kirkwall, yet in Minrathous he continued to insist upon wearing commoner's clothing. Fenris' eyes went to the window. The curtains had been drawn and revealed a limited view on red roofs in pale sunlight. Though he could not see the sun, Fenris assumed it had begun to climb the sky hours ago. "What time is it?" he asked with a dry mouth. "How long did I sleep?"

Hawke picked up a comb from the table and pulled it through his hair a few times before he started to tie it back. "It's about two hours before noon," he replied. His tone was casual, but Fenris detected a stiffness in Hawke's shoulders. "You should be well-rested by now."

Fenris did not feel well-rested, which had to be obvious to Hawke as well. The past two months his night's rest had gotten longer and longer. Tonight he must have slept ten, even eleven hours. Trying to ignore the pit in his stomach, Fenris rose and washed his face with water from the bowl Hawke had put on the nightstand. While he put on his breeches and tunic Hawke finished his braid. Fenris was aware of Hawke watching him quietly as he donned his breastplate and finally his gauntlets. The leather of his clothing rubbed in an irritable manner against his markings, but Fenris was careful not to show his discomfort. Hawke would be unable to do anything about it and he did not want to complain without need.

"Let's go downstairs so you can have some breakfast," Hawke said when Fenris was finished. "I have already eaten."

"You could have woken me up earlier," Fenris grumbled, not sounding very convincing.

"I figured you'd need all the rest you could get." Hawke grabbed his staff and opened the door. "Don't worry," he said, holding the door open. "It won't be long now." He flashed his teeth in a grin. "Gaius is going down."

Fenris simply nodded as he squeezed past Hawke and walked down the stairs. 

* * *

After having had breakfast Fenris felt his head clear a little. He and Hawke slowly made their way to the arena where the duel would take place.

"How are you feeling today, Fenris?"

"I am well enough, thank you."

Hawke sighed at the stiff reply but said nothing in return. He stayed quiet until they neared the arena. "What a crowd here," he remarked. "Are these people all here to watch the duel?"

"So it would seem."

Hundreds of commoners had already gathered on the square in front of the building, waiting for the gates to be opened and to claim a spot that provided a good view on the battle ground.

"Do duels always attract this much attention?"

"Duels among magisters are particularly popular, although I have never witnessed a gathering of this many people before the arena opens its doors."

"Could that be attributed to the fact that they have never seen a foreign idiot challenge a magister before?" Hawke quipped.

Fenris could not suppress a chuckle. "That sounds likely."

As they approached the entrance of the arena, people moved out of the way to let them through. Many pairs of eyes watched them with intense curiosity. Excited murmurs rose up from the crowd. Fenris heard the word "barbarian" repeated often, just as remarks concerning a "slave". He was quite certain that many bets would be placed this afternoon. Few would be in Hawke's favor. 

"Hawke!" a voice shouted. "Over here!" Next to the guards who made sure that the gates would not be stormed by the eager masses stood Feynriel. He waved Fenris and Hawke over and greeted them with a smile. "I hope you are both well?" he asked them. "Today is the day! I admit I'm feeling a bit nervous." He wrung his hands in anticipation.

"I'm sure all will be fine," Hawke reassured him. "Feynriel, are all these people here to watch the duel?"

"I would say so. The news has spread through the city at lightning speed. Nobody wants to miss it. No matter the outcome, today will be remembered in Minrathous' history."

Hawke could only stare at Feynriel, taking aback by the impact his personal endeavor had. Once again he found himself in the center of attention by accident. It appeared to be as much a part of Hawke as the color his hair or the shape of his nose.

They waited. Hawke chatted with Feynriel about the weather and other, equally innocent topics. Fenris wondered in silence how he was supposed to track down one injured slave when the arena would be filled to the roof with spectators. An hour before the start of the duel the guards opened the gates and allowed the commoners to swarm inside. It did not take long before the building had insufficient room for more spectators and the soldiers were forced to deny further access. The square was still extremely crowded by the time that happened. The people who had missed their chance loudly made their displeasure known. A small group that came too close were mind blasted by an impatient guard and landed in a distorted heap upon the stones. Fenris and Hawke remained outside, near the entrance, with Feynriel.

Roughly fifteen minutes before the duel would begin the magisters began to arrive. Each of them was accompanied by a personal escort consisting of bodyguards, servants, their apprentice and close family. People who did not get out of the way quickly enough were forcefully pushed aside to allow the magisters to march to the arena's entrance. All were dressed in elaborate robes of rich fabric in deep, dark red, green, blue or black. Their hair and beards shone in the weak sun of the scented oils that had been combed through. Most magisters had a woman striding next to them, clinging to their arm. They were more colorful than their husbands and their hair formed intricate sculptures held together by pins decorated with precious gemstones. The women had accentuated their eyes with makeup but had painted their lips in more subtle shades. Fenris, registering this detail of the latest fashion, recalled the bright red Illythia had used and smiled to himself.

There was one exception to the parade of peacocks. The tenth magister seemed to arrive without wife or family. The lad that offered support and aided the magister in walking appeared to be his apprentice. The young mage attempted to look proud despite his shuffling mentor, yet his frustration won and made him scowl. A grumpy apprentice and lack of further company besides slaves was however not what made the tenth magister stand out. More notable were the deformities of the man. His back was hunched, his skin severely wrinkled and marked with strange blue spots. The mysterious discolorations were visible on his hands, his neck and his scalp, which was bald except for a few scattered tufts of white hair. Although his robes looked like they were of fine quality and his fingers were adorned with heavy rings, the magister's appearance did not benefit from it. The black robes were hanging loosely around his body, as if they were too large for him. The rings could not hide the clawed fingers, and when the magister neared them the sunlight was not only reflected by the gold and gems but also by some of the blue spots on his skin.

"That's magister Macarius," Feynriel whispered. "Apparently he's completely mad."

"Then why is he allowed to remain a magister?" Hawke whispered back.

"Because he's very powerful as well. Several attempts to... dispose of him failed dramatically."

"Is that what caused... is that why looks like that?"

"No. According to my master it's the result of the use of foul magic."

Fenris recognized the magister and his name. Danarius had regularly spoken in a negative manner of Macarius, yet he had always invited him to personal celebrations and meetings. That was a clear testament to the power of the mage. His disfigurement had become a lot more severe since Fenris had last seen him.

So far all magisters had entered the arena without even glancing in Hawke's direction, but Macarius refused to keep walking, despite the encouragements of his apprentice, when he reached the gates. Slowly he turned around until he was facing Hawke, Fenris and Feynriel. Eyes drained of all color went over them, lingered on Hawke. The magister barely reached till Hawke's chest, yet Hawke shifted his weight nervously under the magister's stare. Up close it became apparent how his skin reflected the sunlight. Some of the blue spots turned out to be tiny crystals protruding from the magister's skin. Macarius' head bobbed up and down a couple of times. Then he turned around without saying anything and shuffled through the gates.

Magister number eleven was Gaius. He was an olive-skinned, pudgy man with a thick beard that hid part of his second chin. Small, beady eyes glared around from an unattractive face. Like the other magisters Gaius wore expensive robes and rings to accentuate his status. And like nine of the other magisters he passed Hawke and Fenris without seeing them. Hawke, however, had now seen his opponent and Fenris could sense his grin before he saw it.

"Oh, this is going to be fun."

_"Agreed!"_

"This is not the time to get cocky," Fenris warned. "Do not make the mistake of underestimating him. As far as I know the amount of fat in one's body does not hamper magical abilities."

Hawke snickered but turned serious after that. "You're right, of course. Have you gotten a good look at his entourage?"

"I did."

"Good. That should make it easier to find them inside. Chances are the slave we need is among them."

The next to arrive was Claudius. He looked as impressive and flawless as the previous times they had seen him. His wife was a beautiful blonde who had eyes as sharp as her husband's, though hers were blue as the sky above their heads. Claudius halted before the arena to greet them. "Ah, serah Hawke," he said in a smooth voice. "What a lovely weather today. Excellent day for a duel."

Hawke lightly bowed his head. "I agree completely."

"Are you nervous?" Claudius inquired innocently.

Hawke raised his head, his light blue eyes piercing the magister's gaze. "I am confident in my abilities and impending victory."

Claudius threw his head back and laughed heartily. "That's the spirit!" he slapped Hawke on the shoulder. "Good luck, Champion of Kirkwall. I think you'll need it. Come, Feynriel."

"I have to go," Feynriel said while Claudius already walked on. "I bid you good luck." 

* * *

The last to arrive was the Archon. He had by far the largest group of slaves accompanying him, although he appeared to be without a wife. Unlike with Macarius, the lack of a wife could impossibly be attributed to the Archon's appearance. He was a tall, proud man with broad shoulders. He had to be at least in his early seventies, yet his tanned skin looked healthy and displayed a minimum of wrinkles. His completely bald head glistened subtly in the afternoon sun. He, too, stopped in front of Hawke.

"You are the challenger in this duel, serah Hawke?" His voice was deep and pleasant.

"I am," Hawke acknowledged. He held out his hand, which the Archon shook.

"It is time," the Archon said. "Let us go inside so that we may begin."

Hawke and Fenris followed the Archon into the arena. They were immediately greeted by a thunderstorm of sound. The Tevinters booed and cheered, whistled and shouted. As many people as possible had been squeezed into building. Only a large oval in the center of the arena remained free, secured by a low marble balustrade. A magical barrier divided the area in half. Gaius was already waiting on his half of the battle ground.

The Archon strode to the platform that was reserved for the magislation. Hawke removed the staff from his back and looked at Fenris. Fenris barely heard him in the tumult of the arena. "Here we go."

Fenris nodded weakly. His stomach had tied itself into a tight knot. The realization that he truly had made it to the day of the duel and that what happened in the coming few minutes would determine what the rest of his life would entail - no matter how long or short that life would be - suddenly hit him. These could be the last minutes he was free. This could be the last moment he saw Hawke alive. It was like that moment at the Gallows in Kirkwall, when they were about to protect a group of mages from the templars and their crazy Knight-Commander. This felt similar, but worse. _Promise me you won't die_ , he had said to Hawke then. He felt like he should say something again. How could he remain silent when this could be his last moment with Hawke? But he had no idea what they were fighting for this time. This was not about ideals, right or wrong. It was another fight for Fenris' sake, but not like the battle against Hadriana or Danarius. Those had been for his freedom, but this one? Yes, his freedom was at stake here as well, but still it was different. What would they gain from victory here? His life? But there was no guarantee that he would be saved from the markings' destruction if this duel was won. Then understanding dawned upon Fenris. He was not certain this fight was worth it. It felt almost... pointless, Hawke risking his life because of this. Because of him. The fight was for Fenris' sake, but Hawke had been the one who had chosen to fight. Hawke had decided to bet Fenris' freedom and his own life against the sliver of hope that Fenris could be saved. Fenris hated that idea. He hated Hawke for this attempt that reeked so strongly of desperation. He hated that he could lose the only things that were precious to him: his freedom and Hawke.

So what could he say? He was out of time. Hawke was about to enter his half of the arena. His back was already turned to Fenris. Fenris could not let him go without saying anything. "Hawke!" he called out.

Hawke turned around, his eyes gleaming in the prospect of doing something insanely stupid.

"Don't..." Fenris cleared his throat. "Don't lose."

Hawke raised his staff in a salute, then entered the battle ground. When the Archon saw that both mages were ready, he announced the two competitors and the conditions of the duel. After his brief introduction, the Archon slammed his staff on the ground and the magical barrier that separated Hawke and Gaius disappeared. The duel had begun.

Fenris did not wait for the first spells to be cast but immediately dove into the crowd. The public was unwilling to let him through. Many people resisted when Fenris tried to push them aside and squeeze past. The smell of sweat and unwashed bodies filled his nose as he pressed on. The distinctive sounds of various spells sang through the air. Fenris recognized the roar of a fireball, the clattering of ice and the crackling of lightning. _No blood magic yet._

The crowd enthusiastically yelled encouragements at their favorite. Fenris tried to see how much farther he had to go, but all he could see were the heads of the people around him. He gritted his teeth and used his gauntlets and elbows to clear a path for himself. There was not much time. He had to hurry.

Unsurprisingly his markings reacted to the presence of strong magic in the arena. The lyrium burned over his whole body, lighting up. Fenris cursed and increased his speed. He could only hope that the magisters were fixated on the duel before them and would not become suspicious of his movements. They could undoubtedly come up with an excuse to stop him.

His progress was frustratingly slow. As he increased his efforts to reach the other side of the arena, so did the resistance he encountered become stronger. Several times he was roughly shoved back. Somebody even groped him, another hit him on the head, but Fenris ignored it and went on. He heard the buzz of a magical shield and a sizzling noise when that shield absorbed an offensive spell. No cries of pain yet. So far neither mage appeared to have been hurt.

Then, without warning, a shift in the magical activities occurred. Fenris sensed it in his markings, which fully burst to life, and the excited giggles of the demons. A scream, louder than the chaos of the crowd reached his ears. It came from behind him. _Blood magic._

Immediately Fenris launched himself forward and started running. People yelped and screeched when his barely-tangible form cut through them. Fenris zigzagged around obstacles as much as he could. When necessary, he willed the markings on his hands to obey him, gaining enough physical matter to hit or pull people away. The tormented scream echoed in his ears. _Come on, Hawke. Dispel it. I need more time!_

As if Hawke had read his mind, the noise stopped. For a couple of frightening seconds Fenris feared that Hawke had died, but the Archon did not announce a victor and the people around him were still shouting their encouragements and random obscenities.

His heart was hammering in his chest by the time he finally reached the other end of the battle ground. Fenris caught a glimpse of Gaius waving his staff, while he feverishly looked around for blood and the slave it would belong to. He saw nothing. Only sweaty faces staring in fascination at the duel. Gaius had apparently completed his spell, because once again Fenris could hear Hawke scream in pain.

Panic threatened to overwhelm him as he searched in vain for that one person amidst hundreds. He pushed more people away until he was almost at the first of the steps that offered a better view of the battle ground. The screaming went on. Hawke was not going to disrupt the spell this time.

Then he saw her. He had almost lost hope when his eyes went over that one face that was not consumed by what was happening between the two mages. The two eyes that stared without seeing. She was standing a few steps away from the rest of Gaius' slaves. When he took a step forward, Fenris could see more than just her face. She was human, not an elf, and in her mid-forties. The skin of her hands looked rough. Cleaning duty. She was not pretty enough to be called upon for entertainment functions - at least not anymore. Shivering mildly, she was clutching her right arm against her chest. The front of her plain dress was wet and colored dark red. Fenris saw the blood oozing from the cut that reached from her wrist to her elbow.

When he took another step closer to her she suddenly woke from her lethargy. Her head turned and her eyes focused on him, _seeing_ him. Her expression became pleading now that there was finally somebody who saw her, somebody who was not lost in the excitement of the duel.

In the background, Hawke's voice grew weaker.

The woman opened her mouth, silently forming a word. " _Please._ "

A last step and he had reached her. Fenris grabbed her wounded arm and spun her around, so she was standing with her back to him. "I'm sorry."

Holding one hand over her mouth, he fiercely twisted her head, snapping her neck. The slave did not make a sound. Her body simply went limp and slumped against him. Fenris steadied her so she would not fall. Looking down, he saw her eyes. Eyes that did not see anything. Carefully he closed them. Now she looked peaceful, as if she were asleep. Only the large blood stain on her dress and the blood that still trickled from her dead fingertips disturbed that image of peace.

One more innocent had fallen by his hands. The collective weight of the lives he had taken was so heavy that he could barely feel the difference with this life added to it. When was the last time he had murdered someone who had in no way tried to harm him? All had been at the command of Danarius.

Behind him, Hawke had become quiet. The crowd let out a collective sigh when the duel took a surprising turn. Judged by the sensation of his markings, their plan had worked: the blood magic seemed to have disappeared. A shocked yelp resounded through the arena. Even from his place among the public Fenris could feel the pull of force magic. Many of the spectators stumbled a step forward. People in the front row cursed when they were pushed against the balustrade by the crowd behind them.

The yelp turned into a pained wail. Fenris knew that he would not be able to see what was happening even if he turned around, so he held the dead slave in his arms and listened. He heard the roaring buildup of energy. _Fire._ The arena lit up and the temperature rose when the fireball was released and struck its target. Flames crackled, frying fat sizzled. Shrieks of torment.

When the last cries of a dying man quieted, a stunned silence descended upon the arena. The crowd fell silent, each individual mind trying to process the impossible thing they had just witnessed. The entire Senate remained silent. The voice of the Archon did not announce the victor. Fenris turned to look at the magisters on their private platform. Their reactions were quite amusing. Most magisters' faces had turned varying shades of red or purple. Claudius had gone white as a sheet. Macarius did not seem to share the shock of his colleagues and was giggling, his head bobbing rhythmically up and down. His apprentice looked like the behavior of his master was more appalling than the outcome of the duel. Only the Archon appeared unaffected. He was leaning forward, his chin resting on his hand. He looked like he had just seen something extremely fascinating, yet of limited import, like a talking cat or a dwarf with magical abilities. When the silence continued, the Archon blinked and glanced left and right. Then he slowly rose and spread his arms, asking for attention and silence he already had. "Victory," he said with his rich, deep voice, "belongs to the challenger: serah Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall."

As complete and intense as the silence had been, so wild and deafening was the cacophony that erupted after the Archon had spoken. The people of Minrathous booed and cheered, stomped their feet, clapped their hands, jumped up and down, chanted Hawke's name. Fenris lowered the dead slave's body until she was leaning against the first step. He doubted the mad crowd would notice her. The chaos now was even greater than during the duel itself.

For a moment he remained next to her, his head lowered. _Maker, watch over her soul._ Then he turned away and pushed through the masses of wildly moving bodies. This time people were more willing to let him through, though the path still was not easy. Strangers patted him on the back, pulled him in a crushing hug or tried to include him in a mad dance. Fenris wrestled himself past it all, till he was finally standing by the marble balustrade. He saw Hawke in the middle of the arena, both his free hand and the hand holding his staff above his head, welcoming the admiration of the public. Fenris' heart leapt. With weakened legs he climbed over the balustrade. He landed close to the charred remains of Gaius. The colorful robes had been reduced to a black crisp. The same could be said about the magister. Fenris only glanced at the body in passing while he walked unsteadily in Hawke's direction. _He's alive. He won. The fool actually won._

Hawke saw him immediately. He lowered his arms and grinned like an idiot. As Fenris approached Hawke, he could see the discoloring on Hawke's neck and face. The blood magic had damaged or destroyed several veins, leading to the blood spreading underneath his skin. The left side of Hawke's face looked like one large bruise.

He understood Hawke a little bit better now. He understood the reason to fight. It was why he had killed the slave, and Hawke had killed Gaius. _Nothing can be worse than the thought of living without you._

After what felt like an hour of walking, Fenris stood in front of Hawke. _He's alive._ "You... you look awful."

That elicited a chuckle from Hawke. "I'll heal the rest in a minute." Hawke took the last step that separated them, wrapped his hands around Fenris and pulled him in for a kiss. Without thinking Fenris answered the kiss, allowing Hawke's tongue to part his lips and slip into his mouth. Hawke's staff pressed against his back, but he did not care. He hesitated for a second before he raised his hands and held Hawke's head to encourage him to continue. His markings refused to stop glowing, he was hot and sweaty and exhausted, the demons goaded him to strip and take Hawke right there, in the arena in front of thousands of people, the image of the slave woman trembling and clutching her bleeding arm was stuck in his head, but he ignored it all. For now. This moment was theirs. This moment the former slave and the barbarian celebrated their victory before the eyes of the magisters and people of Tevinter.


	14. Chapter 14

They broke off their kiss when several magisters had left their seats and approached the victors. Claudius was the first to congratulate Hawke.

"An impressive recovery," he said. "For a moment I was quite certain you were done for. It was a lucky coincidence that Gaius suddenly lost control over his spell..."

Hawke grinned triumphantly. "Lucky indeed," he cheerfully agreed. "But I am a man known for my luck."

Claudius' eyes glimmered darkly. "So I've seen. Extremely fortunate for you that Gaius made such a beginner's mistake. Usually even our apprentices are above that level."

"Insufficient willpower," Hawke replied with a shrug.

"Hmm."

The Archon gave Claudius a disapproving look. "Magister Claudius, where are your manners? Our Fereldan guest has treated us on an excellent display of magical ability, and yet you are trying to downplay his victory. Would you accuse any of your colleagues of winning by sheer luck? Now be a good host and invite our victor to the celebration party."

Claudius made a formal bow in the Archon's direction. "Of course. Apologies." He turned back to Hawke. "As is our custom, there is a party in honor of the duel's victor. Since it is my turn to be the host, you are more than welcome in my home to properly enjoy your victory."

"I do love parties." Hawke returned Claudius' bow, although he made sure it was not a deep as the magister's. "I will gladly seize the opportunity and take advantage of your hospitality."

When Claudius smiled, he reminded Fenris very strongly of Danarius. "Marvelous! We will leave when you're ready."

Hawke looked like he felt completely ready for a victory party, but Fenris placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him down a little to whisper in his ear. "We can't leave yet."

Hawke stared at him, his brow lowered in confusion. He waited for an explanation, but Fenris was not willing to give one in front of the magisters. When he did not get a reason, Hawke straightened. "If you don't mind, I'd like a moment to recover before I go with you," he told to Claudius. "You can travel ahead if you wish. We will follow shortly."

Claudius tilted his head. "Very well. I'll make sure everything is arranged for your arrival." With that, Claudius and the majority of his colleagues took their leave. Feynriel seized the opportunity to quickly embrace Hawke and congratulate him before he trotted after his mentor.

After the men, a large group of women walked past them. They deliberately moved slower than their spouses and took the time to glare hostilely at Hawke and Fenris. In their midst was a plump woman, weeping bitter tears and wailing in grief. Gaius' wife. Now widow.

"The women don't appear to be fond of you," Fenris commented dryly.

"Ah well, I've never been very interested in them anyway," Hawke said airily. "Can you tell me now why we're still standing here? I honestly would like to sit down. And eat all Claudius' food."

Fenris did not answer. Instead he walked to where he had come from, towards Gaius' corpse. Two slaves were busy lifting the magister's remains on a stretcher to carry him out of the arena. Though Fenris was not very interested in the charred corpse he could not help but notice a hole in the body's abdomen. "What exactly did you do to him?" he asked Hawke while he climbed over the marble balustrade.

"Knocked him over with some force magic when he lost his spell, gutted him with an ice spike, then burned him with fire to finish it. Didn't you see it? It was quite spectacular, if I might say so myself."

"I did not see it, no. I was occupied, as you should well know." He had reached the body of the slave. She was still slumped against the first step of the arena, her head resting on one shoulder in an awkward angle. Apparently her presence had not caused panic among the crowd. Imperial citizens knew what they were supposed to ignore. Nobody around them gave any indication that they saw the dead woman. People enthusiastically discussed the duel and its surprising outcome, pointing fingers in Hawke's direction and whispering behind their hands. A dead slave did not dampen the mood of those fortunate enough to have claimed a viewing spot in the arena. Knowing Hawke was right behind him, Fenris took a step aside.

Hawke cursed when he noticed the slave. "Oh, no. I had forgotten about that for a moment." A sigh. "Poor thing."

He knelt next to the woman's remains to examine the wound on her arm.

"He did not even bother with subtlety," Fenris spat. "According to the somniari a cut in the palm of her hand would have sufficed, yet he slit her open from wrist to elbow."

"He cut along the artery," Hawke mumbled. "She would have needed healing immediately after the duel or she would have died then as well. Perhaps Feynriel underestimated the amount of blood Gaius needed for his spells?"

"Have you not paid attention when fighting all those blood mages in Kirkwall? When your own blood mage cast her spells? Surely killing them would have been a lot easier if they'd been so kind to afflict lethal injury upon themselves as soon as the battle started."

"It was mere speculation. I don't know if a wound like this was required. It does seem excessive." Hawke got to his feet. "Alright, you've successfully ended the moment of victory but I'm still not sure what you want from me. She's dead. I can't do anything for her."

"You cannot just leave her here. She is your responsibility now."

"Mine? This is your dead body. My fat guy over there is already being taken care of!"

Fenris folded his arms. "I meant that she is your dead slave now."

Hawke gaped at him, glanced down at the slave, then raised his head to gape some more. "Please tell me you're joking."

"You dueled for Gaius' mansion _and everything in it_. If this slave belonged to Gaius, she has now become your property."

"But... but what am I supposed to do with her then? Carry her over my shoulder to Claudius' party?" When Fenris did not answer, he went on. "Does she have family somewhere? Should she be returned to them? I don't even know what Tevinters do with their dead."

"Imperial citizens are usually burned. Slaves are buried."

Hawke frowned. "Why not burn slaves as well? Seems like less trouble."

"Yes, what use could corpses possible serve?" Fenris said sarcastically. He saw Hawke's frown deepen and then his eyes widen as he understood.

"Please tell me you're-"

"I am not joking."

"They don't cremate slaves because they could be used for necromancy?"

"This still surprises you?"

Hawke scratched his freshly-shaven chin. "I suppose it shouldn't, huh?" He let his hand fall back to his side. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do at the moment. I can't simply set her on fire her. There are too many people still in the building, and it would be highly disrespectful as well."

"And leaving her here wouldn't?"

"I... Maker's blue balls! Just say what you want me to do then!"

"I don't know either," Fenris admitted. "But she is your dead slave."

"I told you I have no idea what to do with her!" Hawke snapped. He took a deep breath, once more looked down at the body, and asked in a calmer voice: "Do you think they will bring her back to the mansion if we leave her here?"

"Not likely."

Hawke nodded, more to himself than to Fenris, turned around and grabbed the arm of the man closest to him. "You," he said brusquely. "Take this woman to Gaius'... now _my_ mansion, will you?"

The man wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I am no slave to be ordered by a savage!"

Hawke strengthened his grip on the man's arm. Fenris thought he could see tiny flames light up around Hawke's fingers. The smell of burning fabric confirmed his suspicion. "Do you really think it's wise to call me a savage after what you've just seen?" Hawke hissed while the man gasped at the burning of Hawke's fingers. "You will receive payment. Now get to it, or you can join the beloved magister Gaius." The Tevinter immediately picked up the dead woman after Hawke released him and carried her away. When he was out of sight, Hawke smoothened his shirt. A ripple of magical energy went through the air, detected by Fenris' hyper alert markings. When Hawke looked up again, the last traces of Gaius' blood magic had disappeared. The skin of his neck and face was smooth again - apart from the reddish stubble on his cheeks. 

"Now... time for a little celebration." 

* * *

Outside of the arena they found their escort waiting for them. A lectica, carried by four slaves stood ready, as were several armed men who were supposed to serve as bodyguards. Hawke stared at the lectica distrustfully.

"What is that?"

"A lectica. You can be carried to Claudius' estate if you wish."

" _Carried?!_ " Hawke bristled in indignation. "Do they think I'm incapable of walking? That Gaius hit me so hard that I can no longer stand on my legs? Bah! I'll walk."

Fenris chuckled, secretly relieved that Hawke did not want to be carried through the city after his glorious victory. "You saw the magisters arrive in these things," he said. "They all use them."

"Good thing I'm not a magister then."Hawke started walking, keeping up a brisk pace to make it absolutely clear he was still able to use his own legs. The empty lectica and the bodyguards followed hastily. "If I had let myself be carried around Kirkwall and to the Wounded Coast and Sundermount, my head would be the size of my ass by now." 

* * *

Had it been a hot summer's day, Hawke might have changed his mind on the way to Claudius' home, but with winter near the streets were cool and the sun was unable to truly warm them. Fenris' amusement at Hawke's refusal to use the lectica was long gone by the time they approached Claudius' mansion. Despite the cool weather he was sweating. The markings continued to spread their heat. He checked a few times if he was glowing. Fortunately the lyrium was not fully active and appeared relatively calm, but every now and then he was aware of the lyrium lighting up, ever so lightly. Fenris tried to silence the markings several times, but he felt his energy draining. The prospect of having to spend time in a room filled with magisters became even less enticing. He would rather return to their room at the inn, or the mansion that Hawke could now call his own.

"Why are we going to this celebration again?" he asked after another annoying pulse of the markings.

"To gloat."

"You got what you wanted," Fenris grumbled. "We can simply go to Danarius' old mansion."

Hawke shook his head. "We won. Why would we immediately run off to that place? Claudius hosts that celebration to honor the victor, and against their expectations, I am the victor. We beat them at their own game. Think about it: they want to appear civilized. Claudius was offended that I mocked him when he told us he had bribed Danarius' informants. Just now the Archon himself scolded Claudius for trying to downplay the outcome of the duel. For some reason they thought they could play this by the rules - _their_ rules - and win. We have to remind them of that and hope that they will continue to honor their own laws. So we go to the party they're holding in our honor and subtly annoy them. It'll be fun."

"I can't wait," Fenris sighed. He stopped and brushed his sweaty hair from his forehead. "Here it is."

Claudius' mansion was one of the largest in Minrathous. It was located at the center of the rich district and was surrounded by a lush garden. Hawke could not hide his admiration as he walked past the exotic plants. The temperature seemed to rise a few degrees as soon as they set foot on the magister's domain. The garden appeared untouched by fall or winter, with flowers in all possible colors in bloom. Before they had reached the front door it was opened and Claudius stepped outside to welcome them, a smile on his face. "And finally the Champion arrives! Welcome! Welcome to my home. It is an honor to have you here. Please, do come inside." The magister led them through a vast hall; complex, colorful mosaic decorated the floor; plants and statues were placed in just the right places. Soon they arrived in the room where the rest of the guests had already gathered. Magisters and lower members of the Senate were seated on benches with soft pillows, talking to their colleagues, sipping wine and nibbling on the small delicacies that were offered to them by polite slaves. Fenris' gut tightened at this display of perfect obedience. _Danarius used to have me pour wine for his guests._ _My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed._ This was too familiar, too much, too close. His step faltered. "I do not wish to be here," he said in a hushed voice to Hawke.

Hawke offered an encouraging smile. "I'm sure it won't be long."

"I..."

"Can I offer you something to drink?" Claudius politely inquired.

"I'd like a glass of Agreggio Pavali," Hawke replied with a stony face. "If you have some."

Claudius' teeth glinted in his smile. "Ah, you have good taste. I will order for a bottle to be opened immediately."

Hawke bent towards Fenris, and whispered: "Don't decorate the walls with this one." With a snicker, he straightened.

_You have no idea how tempting that is._

_"Do it!"_

_"Crack a bottle on one of their heads!"_

"Olives,  my lord?"

Fenris started as a silver tray was held under his nose. He quickly stepped away from the young slave, who was looking at him expectantly. He was an elf, no more than twenty summers old, with blond hair and light brown eyes. When Fenris stepped back, the slave's expression went from polite to fearful nervousness. He quickly sank into a deep bow. "Apologies," he muttered. "I did not mean to offend."

Fenris wanted to say something, reassure the young man, but before he could manage to come up with suitable words, the slave had already turned and fled to a group of four guests who were having a passionate discussion about an unknown topic.

"Did you just scare somebody off?"

"I am in no mood for this, Hawke."

Hawke misinterpreted his words. "That's still no reason to be mean to the servants." _Slaves, Hawke. These are not servants._

Another slave, a pretty human woman, brought Hawke his wine. Hawke thanked her and accepted his glass. She hesitated for a second before she offered Fenris a glass as well. His mouth a thin line, he took the glass filled with blood-red liquid from her. Fenris inclined his head to show his gratitude. He did not know what else he could do.

Hawke had already drunk half of his wine when Fenris was still staring at the glass in his hands. He had just been served by a slave. For years he had done what those slaves were doing: pour wine, serve the master and his guests.

They were afraid of him. He could see it in their eyes, in the way the man had grown uneasy when Fenris rejected the simple service he offered, how the woman had hesitated before she offered him wine. They feared him, but why? These two slaves were too young to have served alongside him ten years ago and they had not belonged to Danarius' household. Was it simply his appearance then? He realized that he must be looking worse than during his time with Danarius; clammy - almost feverish - as he felt now, and with the lyrium sending its blue warning at random intervals. Not that he had had much contact with his fellow slaves when he had served as Danarius' bodyguard... Danarius had always kept Fenris with him, always close, always ready to serve. _Always on the leash._ He could not recall ever having eaten or slept with the others. Now that he was thinking about it, he was no longer certain that was all because of Danarius' wishes, or because the other slaves had avoided him then as well.

Hawke nudged him with an elbow. "The creepy magister is coming our way."

Magister Macarius indeed approached them, without his sour apprentice this time and leaning heavily on his staff. He stopped in front of Hawke, his head bobbing up and down, and giggled. "We Tevinters tend to believe that we are unmatched when it comes to the field of magic. It is good to see us proven wrong by a foreigner. Oh, the look on their arrogant faces! Priceless!" He laughed softly to himself.

"Gaius was no friend of yours, I take it?" Hawke said coolly. He made not much effort to hide his wariness while talking to the magister.

Macarius scoffed. "None of these serpents are friends of mine. Do not be fooled by their smooth faces, little barbarian." Hawke scowled at that. Apparently he did not appreciate to be called "little barbarian" by an old, deformed little man whose head did not even reach to his chin. "The true evil hides inside."

"Macarius, you old fiend!"  Claudius appeared next to the deformed magister. "I hope you are not bothering our guest with wild tales and slander?"

"Not at all," Macarius murmured. "I was merely congratulating..."

Claudius' smile failed to reach his eyes, which looked cold and dangerous. "Good. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to discuss something with messere Hawke..."

Macarius nodded, his colorless eyes somehow as unfriendly as Claudius'. "Of course, of course," he said, and shuffled away.

Claudius' gaze followed his colleague until he was certain that the magister was out of earshot. "Forgive me my rudeness," he then said to Hawke. "But I would like a moment to discuss our deal. As I'm sure you recall, part of our agreement was that I could examine Fenris here if I aided you. Of course I do not wish to appear impatient, but I have a busy schedule, so I would appreciate it if we could make an appointment."

Fenris combated the urge to grab the magister and smash his arrogant head on the marble floor. These people truly were the most despicable beings to be found on earth! In the arena the magister had barely been able to hide his shock and disappointment when Hawke won the duel, yet a few hours later he was back to pretending that he had done nothing but help them. The hypocrisy was baffling. One thing was certain: Fenris would not let that rat touch him. Claudius would find himself absent a heart if he dared to stretch one finger in Fenris' direction.

"I think your memory is faulty," Hawke told Claudius. "If I remember correctly, we agreed that you would help us to get access to the mansion that used to belong to Danarius _so that we could get the information we need to stabilize Fenris' markings_. I would give you all information we found on the ritual and you could examine Fenris when we succeeded. We are one step closer; we have the mansion, but we are not done yet."

Claudius pursed his lips. "I don't think that was what..."

"I think it was. Until the ritual has been undone, you will not touch Fenris. Is that clear?"

"Very." Claudius' dark eyes were narrow slits and it was clear that he was not happy with this refusal, but he did not wish to argue in front of the rest of the Imperial elite. "In an hour the first course will be served. You will dine with us, will you not? The winner of a duel is allowed the honorable seat on the Archon's left."

"Oh yes, I'm starving."

"Good. If you excuse me, I have other guests to entertain."

Fenris allowed the air in his lungs to escape when Claudius took his leave. He was grateful for Hawke's quick thinking, but the game they were playing was a very dangerous one. Hawke was no trained diplomat. It was only a matter of time before he ran out of tricks to keep Claudius at bay. Then they would have a true confrontation. Fenris did not look forward to that. _One step at a time_ , he reminded himself. _Day by day._  

* * *

An hour crawled by. Hawke spent most of that time chatting with Feynriel and asking questions about the people who were present. Feynriel pointed out the most important people of the Imperium and provided Hawke with short descriptions. Though he tried to pay attention to the things Feynriel told them, most of Fenris' energy was put into standing straight and not falling over.

_"Sleep."_

_"You know you're tired."_

_"Only for a moment."_

He recognized most people Feynriel pointed out. Only a few faces had changed. Ten years ago there had been two female magisters. Now there was only one. The apprentice of another magister had had an accident and had died.

"I've been informed dinner's ready," Claudius announced. "If you'd all be so kind to follow me."

Obediently the crowd of nobles followed their host to the dining room. They found a long, laid table waiting for them. A row of slaves was standing ready near one of the walls, holding trays with wine and water, or plates with the first course: small shrimps baked in cream.

As Claudius had promised, Hawke was offered a chair next to the Archon. Fenris was seated on Hawke's other side, next to Feynriel. As he sat down, he thought he caught a glimpse of a head with a red bun amidst the people on the other side of the table, but when he focused his eyes he did not see the face he expected. _My mind is playing tricks on me._

When everybody had found his or her place the slaves rushed forward to bring food and drink. A few of the guests had already had a little too much alcohol and were becoming louder. One, seriously obese, magister squeezed the buttocks of the elven woman who brought him his plate and laughed when he saw her eyes widen in surprise. Fenris averted his gaze. Repulsion left a filthy taste on the back of his tongue. He could not believe that he was sitting at the same table as the people he had once served, to be served himself. He wished he could throw this fancy table upside down and walk away without looking back, but for some reason he was trapped here, as trapped as when he had been forced to serve. He did not know which role he hated more. 

* * *

Course after course was brought and taken away again. Fenris ate little and spent most of his time staring at his full plate, at food he had never dreamed he would get to taste. Caviar, salmon, oysters, dear, boar, pheasant, swan... the list of meals was endless. Yet to Fenris it all tasted the same. _Ashes._

He and Hawke were the center of attention, but people were mostly talking _about_ them instead of talking _to_ them. After what was perhaps the fifth course, the Archon graced himself to address Hawke. "Tell me, serah, what do you know of the rebellions in the South?"

"The South?"

"Yes, about the mage rebellions. According to our sources the Circles are collapsing. Did you not play a part in that?"

"Not really."

"Yet the mages seem to cry out your name when they fight their templars."

Hawke's face went slightly pale. "I was there when the Circle in Kirkwall fell apart. The Knight-Commander there lost her mind and wanted to annul the Circle without valid reasons. I decided to defend the mages."

"An admirable decision," the Archon decided. "With far-reaching consequences."

"I thought Tevinter would approve of mages' freedom in the rest of Thedas?"

The Archon smiled thinly. "Except there's no such thing yet beyond our borders and mages are fleeing to Tevinter en masse."

Hawke struggled to keep up. "And this is... bad?"

"They're potential competition," the Archon said simply. "At least the majority of the Senate considers them as such. They fear all these mages might upset the balance in the Imperium, as they've already done in the Free Marches, Orlais and Ferelden. We are occupied with the Qunari conflict. Unrest within our own realm is highly undesirable. "

"I'm... not sure why you are telling me this. It's not like I can do something about it."

"Ah, I am just making conversation," the Archon reassured him. "I merely thought you might be interested to hear that you have unleashed war."


	15. Chapter 15

By the time Hawke rose from his chair to leave for his new mansion, Fenris could do little more than stare blankly at his half-empty plate. He was very close to actually falling asleep. He had lost track of time and the number of courses that passed and only tried to stay awake. He could not allow himself to be vulnerably sleeping in a room filled with mages - magisters even. That he was now almost as vulnerable as when he would be truly sleeping Fenris did not want to admit to himself.

He did not even notice at first when Hawke finally got up. Only after a few taps on his shoulder did Fenris raise his head and saw Hawke standing next to him. "Come, let's go to our new home," Hawke said cheerfully.

Fenris nodded numbly and pushed himself up.

"Do you require an escort to show you the way?" Claudius inquired sweetly.

"No need," Fenris growled. "I know the way."

Claudius inclined his head, that fake, smooth smile on his lips. "Of course. Then I hope you will enjoy your reward and bid you goodnight. We will meet again soon."

"I can't wait." Fenris hoped that it was due to his exhaustion that he did not detect any sarcasm in Hawke's voice.

* * *

 

It was not far to Danarius' - now Hawke's - mansion. Every now and then Fenris cast the obligatory glance over his shoulder, though he did not have enough energy to truly scan their surroundings for potential danger. Fortunately the night seemed peaceful and quiet. They encountered nobody on the streets at this hour. All respectable nobles were already at home or still at Claudius' party.

Hawke's sudden burst of laughter startled Fenris and pulled him out of his sleepwalking state. "We actually did it!" Hawke briefly touched Fenris' arm. "We won! The weeks of waiting are finally over. Within a few days those markings shouldn't be bothering you anymore. Then we can do whatever we want."

Fenris smiled weakly in return. He was still very much in doubt of their chances to recover the information they needed. "We're here," he said, instead of giving voice to his doubts.

Hawke turned to walk through the gates of the mansion Fenris had pointed out, and froze in his first step. Openmouthed hee stared at the path that was revealed before him. Like Claudius' estate, the mansion was surrounded by a lush, green garden that ignored every demand of winter. The same magical orbs that were used to light the streets hovered between the shrubs and trees, but because they were used more sparingly the effect was surreal and dreamlike rather than harsh. The subtle, sweet scent of orange blossom hung in the sultry night air. Somewhere farther away the soothing clattering of a fountain could be heard. Impressive as it all was, the real wonder was the building that lay at the end of the path. White walls, red roof would be the shortest description, but that would not do the architecture justice. Arcs, columns, every component contributed to a magnificent whole, elegant, yet simple at the same time.

"Wow." Slowly Hawke continued his way towards the mansion. "This is incredible. When I saw Claudius' home, I still didn't think... My estate in Kirkwall is as impressive as Gamlen's hovel compared to this. You..." He turned around to stare at Fenris. "Are you really worth as much as all this? Gaius thought it was a fair bet to..."

"Regretting that you didn't sell me out the first time you met me?"

Hawke chuckled. "It would have saved me from a trip into the Deep Roads, that's for sure."

"Then I'm glad I left my price tag in Tevinter when I ran."

"Good thinking," Hawke agreed, trying to maintain a straight face. "Well, better make the most of it now that we have a palace to ourselves."

Together they went through the front door, which was unlocked. In the foyer, Hawke stopped dead in his tracks once more. "Please tell me those are the neighbors welcoming us to the neighborhood," he said softly.

"No, these are your new slaves."

Hawke groaned as an older elf stepped forward from the row of people that appeared to have been waiting for them. His skin was tanned, a similar tone to Fenris' and he was bald. Despite his age, his brows were still dark brown . "Welcome, dominus," he said to Hawke while making a deep bow. "I am Elias, head of the slave household. I live to serve you."

Hawke stared at Elias and the others behind him. Elias maintained his bowing posture, while the slaves behind him stood with their hands clasped behind their back and eyes modestly downcast, though every now and then a pair of eyes would flicker upward to catch a glimpse of the new master. Fenris recognized most of them. They had once served Danarius. A few of the younger men and women did not appear familiar, but he suspected that several of them had been children during his time at Danarius' side.

"Uhm... thanks," Hawke said uncomfortably. "I'm sure we'll get along just fine... I'd like to get to know you all, but right now it's late and I think it's best if we all go to bed. We can speak again tomorrow."

"What are you doing?" Fenris hissed through gritted teeth.

"Trying to be nice."

"To your _slaves_? Are you planning to keep them then?! You have to give them their freedom!"

Hawke took Fenris' arm and pulled him two steps back so that they were with their backs against the wall. Elias had straightened and looked at Fenris through narrowed eyes. The rest of the slaves kept their gaze on the ground. "We can't set them free," Hawke said in a hushed voice. "Not now. You've said yourself that the magisters will do anything to maintain slavery. If we let these people walk away, it may very well cause unrest. We can't afford starting another rebellion."

"I thought we were here to "stir things up a little"?"

"And that's exactly what we've done! We bested a magister in the arena, in front of half of Minrathous and the entire Senate! We get to live in a house meant for their elite. But igniting a slave rebellion goes well beyond that. You've been accusing me of a lack of caution, and now that I am being careful, you disagree again. So far we're only a bit of a nuisance. If the magisters think us a threat to their balance, they will take action against us."

"I disagree because your "caution" apparently means being cared for by slaves. Will you let them cook for you, clean for you? Bathe you, dress you?"

"You're acting like I'm planning to keep them for the rest of my life! It will only be for a few days. Then your markings will be fixed, we'll leave, and they will be free to go as well."

"So you're only eager to start rebellions when mages are involved."

"You mistake me for Anders," Hawke bit back. Their argument had passed the level of whispers some time ago. "Yes, I got involved and tried to defend the mages of Kirkwall, and look what it has gotten me! I am not only an apostate, I am a wanted criminal with a price on his head, a price that has been put there by a man I once called a friend. The uprising in Kirkwall has ignited a full-blown war in the rest of the Free Marches, Orlais, perhaps even Ferelden." He took a deep breath. "When this is over," he said, his voice soft again, "I promise you I will free all these slaves. But for now they have to stay."

Fenris refused to let himself be convinced by Hawke's smooth words. If you tried to have a debate with a magister about slavery, that magister would come up with dozens of good reasons why slavery was important for the Imperium. Yet they would all come down to why it was good for _him_. No reason was good enough to allow complete ownership over other people's lives. But he did not know how to prevent this. Hawke had made up his mind. Fenris could try to tell the slaves that they were free to leave, but he knew that none of them would dare to go. They still had the mentality of a slave, like Orana had had. Like he had once had. Elias certainly would not wish to leave, and his authority was unquestioned by the others.

_"This can't come as a surprise to you."_

_"You were his first slave after all."_

_"Now he simply has a few more."_

_"Do you remember how to kiss feet?"_

The markings burned. Fenris felt sweat dripping down the back of his neck. This debate was lost. He had not enough energy left to even attempt to continue it.

_"If you rip out his heart, they will be free."_

"Fine, he spat. "Keep your slaves then. I hope you will enjoy them."

Hawke glared at him. "You could at least _try_ to be reasonable. Don't act like I'm doing this for my enjoyment. I am here for you, to save you from whatever it is those markings are doing to you. If I wanted a slave so badly, I could have refused to pay Orana."

"Don't even think of using me as an excuse to condone slavery!"

Hawke squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're being absolutely impossible."

_"Should you not apologize to your master?"_

Fenris clenched his jaw to keep the apology he was about to make safely behind his teeth. _I will not be controlled. I will not be mocked._

_"Good. None should squash your pride."_

_"Feed rage!"_

Hawke opened his eyes, and after watching Fenris' impassive face for a long moment, he gave up. "Let's go to sleep," he mumbled moodily.

Elias immediately took another step forward. "I can show you to your chambers, dominus."

"I know the way," Fenris headed for the marble stairs. When he walked past the old slave, the hostility in Elias' eyes was unmistakable before the elf hid his gaze with another bow.

"Of course you do," he mumbled vindictively.

_So that hasn't changed either._

_"His brains would go nicely with the mosaic of the floor."_

Despite Fenris' words, Elias followed him and Hawke at a distance of a few paces. When they reached the top of the stairs, Hawke addressed the slave. "Oh, Elias, has the... ah... body of a middle-aged woman been delivered here earlier?"

The old elf nodded. "Yes, dominus, and she has already been taken care of."

"Taken care of how?"

"She has been put to rest in the ground, as usual."

Fenris' body tensed at that, but he kept walking. It was strange to walk here again. Unnerving. He recognized nearly everything. The mask-like statues that looked down on the passing group from their position on the wall were still the same, their twisted grins never changing. The walls, the floors, the doors, even the smell of the garden that found its way here through ventilation shafts, were all familiar. His legs automatically carried him to where he had to go. How many times had he taken this route? Ten years of absence, of running, fighting and hiding; yet those ten years were easily forgotten, dismissed as nothing but a dream when he felt marble underneath his feet, smelled orange blossom, incense, and lavender in the air while he blindly found his way through the corridors. He had to consciously remind himself that the footsteps that echoed behind him were Hawke's.

"Uhm... okay. Good. Well done."

After decades of servitude, Elias' ear had been trained to pick up any trace of discontentment. "Have I displeased you, dominus?" he asked.

"No, no," Hawke quickly reassured him. "You did what you thought you had to do. Since Fenris told me why dead slaves are buried, I was planning to cremate her. But if she's already been buried..."

"I can let her be dug up again."

"No," Hawke sighed. "No. As you said, she's been put to rest in the ground. I will not have the poor woman's peace disturbed any further."

Fenris did not need to look over his shoulder to know that Elias obediently bowed his head. "As you wish."

"Did she work here?"

"Yes, dominus. She had cleaning duties and worked in the kitchen."

"I see. I'm sorry."

Silence from Elias. He was probably bowing again. Fenris halted in front of a door at the end of the hallway. He hesitated a second before he placed a hand on the doorknob and pushed the door open. More than two steps over the threshold he could not manage.

_Danarius' old bedchamber._

In the few months he had lived here, Gaius had not bothered to change much of the furnishings. The massive bed that formed the center of the room was the same as Fenris remembered. The sheets were different; they had flowers embroidered on them, instead of the plain colors Danarius had preferred. It was not enough. It was too familiar, too much the same. In the dusky room he could see the specter of Danarius standing next to the bed, an evening robe loosely hanging over his shoulders, beckoning him to come closer...

_No. He's dead. He's gone._

Fenris stumbled backwards, bumping into Hawke. "I... I will not sleep here," he stuttered while quickly turning his back to the bed.

"What? Why not? You led us here."

"I can't."

"What's wrong?" Hawke looked over Fenris' head into the dark room. "That looks like a fine bed. Is it because the fat magister slept here? I admit that makes it a little less enticing, but I'm sure the sheets can be changed tomorrow. We will survive one night..."

"The sheets have already been changed, dominus," Elias informed them.

"Now then-"

"I don't care about the sheets!" Fenris erupted. "You are welcome to sleep here but I will not."

"Fine!" Hawke threw his hands up in the air. His patience, too, seemed to be at an end. "Anywhere else we can sleep?"

"There are the chambers of the former domina, or several guest chambers," Elias announced. "Though none can compare to this room."

"I will take one of the guest chambers," Fenris immediately said. Illythia's old room was as alluring as the room where Danarius' presence still lingered.

"That's supposed to be :" _we_ take one of the guest chambers"," Hawke corrected grumpily. "Or is it my presence you seek to be rid of for the night?"

Fenris wanted to say something, but before he had made a sound, Elias interrupted. "Follow me, if you please." Hawke gave a curt nod and walked after the slave, leaving Fenris little choice but to follow as well.

Within a few minutes they arrived in a different wing of the mansion and Elias led them into the largest of the guest chambers. After having inquired if they - or rather: dominus Hawke - needed anything else, he finally took his leave. Fenris quickly relieved himself of the weight of his breastplate and greatsword. He could not muster the will to take off his leather armor and simply fell down on the double bed, closing his eyes.

"You're going to sleep like that?"

"Seems like it."

Fingers unfastened his shirt and unlaced his trousers. "Are you really that tired?"

Fenris forced his eyes open. "I know it makes no sense, but I feel drained. Like I could fall asleep any moment during the day. It seems to be getting worse."

"I think I know what causes it. Your markings connect you to the Fade, and along with your markings that connection has become unstable. It seems it has actually gotten stronger, hence the possibility of demons contacting you. Since the Fade is the place where our soul goes when we sleep, I imagine that an unstable, powerful connection to the Fade continuously tries to pull you back in. You feel that as tiredness and the need to sleep. I believe that was more or less the same problem as Feynriel had."

Fenris tried to turn on his stomach, but Hawke's hands on his hips held him in place. "Enough with the magical theories, Damian. I don't need to be lectured on the Fade to know that these filthy markings are the problem."

"Hmm." Hawke pulled Fenris' trousers down and took them off. "That was Danarius' room, wasn't it?"

Fenris bit the inside of his cheek and let his eyelids drop again. _Danarius is dead. I tore out his heart. I should not let his memory haunt me._

_"How little you know, my pet."_

A hand against the back of his neck pushed him up a bit, after which his last piece of leather armor was removed.

"Do you want me to... sleep somewhere else?"

He did not open his eyes when he answered. "No. I don't." _Though I should._

There was a rustling of fabric and then the mattress shifted as Hawke lay down and pulled the sheets over him. "Good night, Fenris." The edge of irritation was still clearly detectable in Hawke's voice.

* * *

 

He was lying naked on the wooden surface of a table, stomach down, wrists and ankles bound. The silhouette of a man loomed on his right. "We can begin the examination." Fenris recognized the voice as Claudius'.

Long, thin fingers traced the lines of lyrium that travelled down his spine. Fenris gritted his teeth at the painful burning the touch caused.

Hawke appeared on his left side, stretching out a hand to caress the markings on his shoulder blades. Fenris could feel his skin blister underneath Hawke's scorching fingertips. "I know how to improve upon the ritual," he heard Hawke say. "If we infuse more lyrium, his powers will increase tremendously. We can also merge him with a demon. What do you think?"

A third voice, coming from behind, answered and made Fenris' breathing speed up in fear. "I like the way you think." Ice-cold hands squeezed his buttocks. "Let's prepare my little wolf." Danarius shoved a finger inside Fenris' asshole and immediately added another one. The cold was so great that it stung and hurt as much as Hawke's fire. Fenris writhed and trashed on the table to escape, but Danarius' fingers only dug deeper into him. His lips parted to let out a scream that could no longer be held back. 

* * *

He woke up with a start. When he opened his eyes, he was blinded by the light of his own markings. Fenris turned on his side and waited for his eyes to adapt and his breathing to slow. The sheets underneath him were wet; more sweat trickled down his back. In the cool night air he shivered, despite his body feeling burning hot. For a while Fenris expected he was going to throw up, but the nausea did not build up any further. Eventually the lyrium dimmed and he sat upright. Next to him Hawke was vast asleep, mouth hanging half open and occasionally snoring modestly.

The room was still dark. He could not have slept for more than a few hours, and it had done little to revive his strength. Yet Fenris was reluctant to lie back down. He did not want to be pulled back into another nightmare. He decided to shake off the memory first by stretching his legs for a bit.

Silently he picked up his trousers and put them on. He left the top piece of his armor hanging open and slipped through the door opening. The hallway was even darker than the room he came from. The only available light came from his markings, which still refused to go out completely.

"So you've fucked your way up once more."

Fenris wheeled around to face the source of the sudden sound behind him. His hand flawlessly found the throat of the person who had spoken and smacked him against the wall. Elias' face appeared in the blue glow of the markings, looking disdainful despite Fenris' hand around his neck.

"I advise you not to sneak up on me like that again." Fenris released the old elf and took a step back.

"I spit on your advice," the slave hissed. "First you run away, then you kill mistress Hadriana, then you brutally murder master Danarius himself, and now you return at the side of some savage and I am forced to serve _you_."

"You don't have to serve me," Fenris replied flatly.

Elias laughed mockingly. "Oh, that's right. You tried to get me and everybody else thrown out on the street to live among the beggars, bowing and scraping for shit."

_"He appears to be made for that."_

_It's not his fault._

"I spoke with your freedom as my purpose. Freedom does not have to equal a beggar's life."

"Said by every master's lapdog, granted with special abilities and training."

"Hawke is not my master."

"Call him what you want, I don't care. There's no denying what you are." Elias attempted to walk past Fenris, but Fenris stepped aside to block his path.

"Do you have no desire whatsoever to experience what it's like to be your own person?" Fenris pressed. "Are you content to live and die as a slave?"

"Stop trying to force your own, misguided ideas about freedom on others. It hasn't worked before and it will not work now." Elias made another attempt to walk away, and this time Fenris allowed him to go.

"Before?" he called out to the slaves' back.

Elias looked over his shoulder. "Have you not met your last victim of freedom? I thought master Danarius - may the Maker watch over his soul - convinced your sister to contact you."

Fenris said nothing in return. Soon the darkness of the mansion had swallowed Elias' silhouette and Fenris was left alone. His own exhaustion drove him back to where he had come from, to the bed in which Hawke still lay sleeping.

This time he undressed by himself and pulled the damp sheets over him as he crawled into bed. Elias' words would once have been enough to keep him awake for at least another hour, but now the Fade was quick to pull him back into the domain of spirits and demons as soon as Fenris placed his head on the soft pillow.


	16. Chapter 16

The next time Fenris awoke, the room was bathing in sunlight and he found himself alone in bed. He recalled his brief meeting with Elias in the middle of the night and sighed. Being confronted with the slave's denial was difficult, especially because Fenris knew that he would have reacted in exactly the same way if someone had spoken similar words to him during his time as a slave. Things that reminded him of that old life were everywhere here, both living and dead. Added to the fact that he already served as a plaything for demons, he feared that the last locks on his sanity would not hold for long in this place. It was too strongly connected to Danarius... the presence of his old master's specter was looming around every corner.

Fenris pushed the sheets away and swept his legs over one side of the bed. His thoughts turned to Elias again while he got dressed. He had always known the old elf did not like him, but they had never had a confrontation like yesterday's. They had barely spoken to each other at all while serving Danarius. Fenris only remembered the heat of Elias' burning stares whenever they happened to be in the same room. How deep Elias' contempt for him ran had remained unknown until now. Fenris wondered what he had done to cause it. Simple disgust for his role as Danarius' most prized slave seemed an insufficient explanation.

A timid knock on the door interrupted Fenris' contemplation. "Yes?" Fenris called while fastening the last buttons of his shirt.

A young elven slave girl opened the door and stepped into the room. "I'm sorry to disturb you, dominus," she began nervously. "But it seems dominus - the... ah... other dominus - has gone mad and we don't know what to do."

Fenris frowned at the young woman. "Hawke? What's wrong with him?"

"We don't know!" she repeated. "He seemed in a good mood while he explored the mansion, but in the library he suddenly went mad. He picked up a book and started shouting... I don't know what we've done to displease him."

"You haven't done anything wrong," Fenris assured her. "I'll go see what the problem is."

The slave nodded rapidly as Fenris hastened past her to get to the library. He wondered what it was that had upset Hawke so much. Could Elias have said something? Had Hawke decided now was a good time to inquire about Fenris' past? What horrible things would Elias have chosen to reveal? Fenris knew everything could be blamed on Danarius, that it was all on the magister's conscience, and Hawke already knew the worst thing Fenris had done. Murdering the Fog Warriors was his gravest crime. He had told Hawke about it and Hawke had not rejected him. That should be sufficient proof that nothing in his past would chase Hawke away... but Hawke's reaction to finding out that Danarius had been married suggested otherwise. Fenris still did not entirely understand Hawke's complete surprise at that. He could only assume that Hawke's ideas about slavery did not match Tevinter's reality. Avoiding to talk about it was likely not the best way to handle it, but Fenris still wished to leave the past behind him, and that was impossible if he had to drag it back and spread it out in front of Hawke. Hawke would just have to accept that.

Once Fenris reached the library, he found several slaves standing next to the door that allowed access, Elias among them. Fenris heard no shouting or any other noises that would suggest Hawke had gone mad like the slave had said.

Fenris considered asking Elias what was going on, but the hard look in the man's eyes discouraged him, so he immediately went inside.

Hawke stood in front of one of the high book cases in the large room. When Fenris came in, Hawke turned around, a book in his hand.

"An upset slave told me you had gone mad."

Hawke raised the hand in which he was holding the book. "I can't read this," he said. The sadness fell from his face and made way for anger as he hurled the book through the room. It hit a table and fell open on the ground, the cover up. Hawke turned back to the bookcase and grabbed another book, and another one. "I can't read those either." He threw the books over his shoulder. One landed close to Fenris' feet. He bent over and picked it up to look at it. The first page confirmed what the title already suggested: the book was written in Arcanum. He looked up just in time to see a book flying in his direction and ducked out of the way.

"You never made me do this to increase my reading skills," Fenris remarked.

Hawke spun around. "I can't read those damned books!" he yelled. "Hardly any of them are written in the common tongue."

"Throwing them at my head isn't going to solve that."

"I..." Hawke ran a hand through his loose hair. "I can't believe this. All this time, all this waiting, and we're still not close to the solution. Not close enough at least. I... What now? I can't learn a whole new language just to decipher which book we're supposed to have! There's no time. You are not practiced in reading Arcanum and are a slower reader than I, and there are so many books!" Hawke's eyes glimmered with desperate frustration as he looked at all the shelves.

Fenris stared at the book in his hands, the pit in his stomach hardening. He had had little expectations about this endeavor, but still he felt the sting of disappointment. Neither of them had considered this, yet it was so glaringly obvious. Most of these books must have been written by Tevinter mages. There was little reason for them to bother with the common tongue in their works. But... was this really the place they had to search? Would Danarius have placed the answer to his greatest secret on a shelf in a simple bookcase? That did not sound like the cunning magister Fenris remembered. Every mage in Tevinter would want to lay hands on the key to the ritual. Claudius had even admitted that they had searched the mansion and had not found anything. Of course he could have been lying about the last part, but either way... "I don't think we need any of these books."

He immediately had Hawke's full attention. "Why not?"

"Claudius said they searched the mansion and did not discover any information related to the ritual. They must have looked in the library. Whether they actually found anything or not, the information won't be here. One of the other magisters has it now, or it wasn't here to begin with."

He could see Hawke's mind absorb this new perspective and utilize the hope it offered. In a manner of seconds Hawke had collected the pieces of his composure and melted them back together into that mask of determination he had been wearing since the beginning of trouble. "Of course," Hawke whispered. "You're right. You don't hide your secrets in a library where anyone can find them. You keep them someplace safe... Do you have any idea where?"

Fenris shook his head. "I don't."

This did not discourage Hawke. "We must search the entire mansion. It must be here somewhere." With large strides he crossed the room and walked through the door. Fenris followed him.

In the hallway Elias and the other slaves were patiently waiting for them. Hawke looked surprised when he caught sight of them, like he had forgotten about them. Then his face lit up and he approached Elias. "Elias, can you read?"

The question surprised the slave. He blinked a few times before he hesitantly answered. "I can... a little, dominus."

"Good. I need everybody to search the house and bring every scrap of parchment they find to the library. They don't have to know what it's about. As long as it's a book or a sheet of parchment with words on it, I want it here. Place everything on piles so that it's clear that it didn't come from the library but from somewhere else. When that is done, you can browse through it and judge their relevance. We're looking for texts about magic or lyrium, probably both."

Elias bowed. "It will be done, dominus."

The slaves immediately went off to work and Hawke turned to Fenris, oblivious to Fenris' seething anger at the orders he had just issued. "Where shall we start?"

"I told you I don't wish to be served by slaves," Fenris snapped angrily. "And now you order them around for my sake!"

"The sooner we're done, the sooner they'll be free to leave."

"Do not insult me by pretending this is about their freedom! It isn't, and we both know it."

Hawke went into the room next to the library, which turned out to be a sort of reading room with a fireplace and comfortable chairs. He began to collect the few books that lay on the low table that stood between two chairs. "Alright, it isn't. It's about you. But they _will_ be free when we leave; it's not like I'm lying about that. Anyway, this place is too big for the two of us to search through. That would take far too long, so I'm not going to turn away help only because your principles demand it." He lifted the cushions from one of the chairs to check if something was hidden underneath them.

_"Oh ho! His first day as a magister is going well!"_

Fenris grabbed one of the cushions Hawke was holding and pushed it against Hawke's chest, so that he fell back into the chair he had been standing next to. " _My principles_ , Hawke?! This is about slavery! I have never known that you would have no problem using slaves when it suited your needs. You actually had me convinced that you were different than the magisters!"

Hawke was looking up at Fenris, his arms and legs sprawled over the arms of the chair. He tried to push himself up into a more dignified position, but Fenris offered him insufficient room to stand up. "I will free them and pay them once this is done," Hawke replied through gritted teeth. "It will be paid work."

_"Smooth, smooth lies."_

Fenris hesitated, no longer sure how justified his anger was. "You will pay them?"

A nod from Hawke. "I will. I would pay them now if there weren't the risk of stirring too much unrest."

Fenris stepped back, allowing Hawke to rise from his half-lying position in the chair. Hawke calmly smoothed his hair and clothing, checked underneath the cushions of the remaining chair, collected the books he had found and walked out of the room. Fenris watched him leave. Hawke could act calm and collected all he wanted. Fenris would not forget the desperation that had reared its ugly head mere moments ago when had Hawke discovered that the books in the library were unreadable for him. They were both balancing on the edge of something dangerous, the edge of the Void. 

* * *

 

Hawke and Fenris had worked themselves through five rooms when Elias appeared. "Apologies, dominus," he began with his usual submissiveness. "But you have a visitor."

Hawke looked up. "Who is it?"

"My lord Feynriel, dominus."

"I'll go see him." As Hawke set off, Fenris stopped Elias before he could take his leave.

"I don't know if he will inquire, but if he does, I would... appreciate it if you did not tell Hawke any details about my time with Danarius."

Elias raised one smooth, dark eyebrow. "Afraid that he will see through you act?"

"There is no act. Hawke knows who and what I am and is aware of my most heinous deeds. It... it's merely that he has difficulty understanding the ways of the Imperium. He doesn't know what it means to be a slave, to only be concerned with your master's needs. Hawke doesn't get that context. He believes he does, but he doesn't. "

"You're talking nonsense. Is this another freedom talk or are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?"

"Neither." Fenris looked away. "I don't want your pity. I... I don't know what I want. Forget I said anything."

Elias made a mocking bow. "As you wish. _Dominus_."

Fenris knew he should stay silent and let it be, but he could not hold his tongue. "I am unaware of what I have done to deserve your contempt. You know as well as I do that a slave does what his master desires. I never had a choice."

Only a tiny hint of sadness managed to creep on Elias' face before his willpower crushed it. "Your unawareness is all the more reason for it," he replied softly, surprising Fenris that he bothered to say something at all. He wanted to ask for more clarification but Elias refused to be held in place any longer. "I must return to my duties." And with that, he was gone. 

* * *

After a few minutes of unsuccessfully trying to decipher the meaning of what Elias had said, Fenris went looking for Hawke. He and Feynriel turned out to still be talking in the foyer. Hawke offered a brief smile when Fenris came standing next to him. "Feynriel just told me that Claudius is inviting us for another dinner, two days from now."

He and Fenris exchanged a cautious look. Apparently Hawke, too, felt this was rather soon after yesterday's elaborate celebration of Hawke's victory. Likely Claudius intended to press them to keep their end of the bargain. Eventually Fenris shrugged. "Refuse. Tell him we have no time."

"I don't think that's wise," Feynriel said carefully.

Fenris immediately turned his way. "Is that a threat?" he asked in a low voice.

Feynriel quickly raised his hands to deny this. "No, no. Claudius merely wanted to see how you've settled in. Refusal will be an insult, and usually it's not a good thing to offend a magister."

Hawke scratched his chin. "You have a point. It's probably better if we do show up and smile politely." A mild grin appeared on his face. "The food was very good last time."

Fenris rolled his eyes. He did not like how they still had to bow to the whims of a magister, though that was pretty much inevitable in Tevinter. They needed more time. It was difficult to say how long it would take to search the entire mansion and then go through all the texts they had recovered for the information on the ritual. If it was even there... if it even existed.


	17. Chapter 17

It was not very surprising that Feynriel was kind and eager enough to offer his assistance with searching the mansion and translating texts written in Arcanum. Fenris considered arguing against this but eventually decided it would be a waste of effort. Hawke had already made it clear he would not accept any suspicion towards the somniari. That, and Fenris feared the demons would be able to fuel his anger beyond reason again. He was starting to doubt more and more whether his thoughts and emotions were his own or the result of their dark influence. It was frightening that he could no longer be sure about what he was feeling or thinking.

Shaking his head to focus, Fenris tried to concentrate on the current task: searching every room for a piece of information on the markings. With the combined effort of all the slaves in the household they were making quick progress. Most of the library's floor was covered with books and sheets of parchment which had been found somewhere in the house. Going through them all would be a considerable undertaking that could take days, maybe even weeks. Fenris picked up a few books and wiped his sweaty forehead. After a while of deep, steady breathing he managed to turn his markings off again. With a sigh he turned around to glance in Hawke's direction.

Hawke remained convinced they would soon recover the solution and that everything would be alright. He searched every room with an intense focus and treated every piece of parchment as a potential miracle. It annoyed Fenris, and at the same time he feared the moment Hawke's optimism would no longer hold. It felt inevitable that moment would come.

_"You cannot escape your faith, little elf."_

"Apologies, dominus." Elias stepped into the room and addressed Hawke. "You have a visitor."

Hawke frowned. "A visitor? Feynriel is already here, so who would visit me? It isn't a magister, is it?" he added, a little suspicious.

Elias allowed himself a subtle smile. "No, dominus, he's not. He said his name is Solivitus. He claims to have met you before."

"Solivitus? I don't recall... oh, wait! That must be Sol, the herbalist from the Gallows."The frown in Hawke's forehead disappeared when he recognized the name, then returned as he wondered how Sol had ended up in the Tevinter Imperium. "We've gathered some rare ingredients for him, remember, Fenris? But what's he doing here? I guess there's only one way to find out." He went after Elias to the foyer. Fenris, curious as well about Sol's mysterious appearance, followed.

The man waiting for them was indeed the same mage who had paid Hawke to gather some strange ingredients to be used for his creations. His hairline had retreated even further since they had last met and the red was streaked with grey. His hollow cheeks betrayed a significant weight loss, yet his thinned face lit up when he saw Hawke approach him.

"Champion!" he called out. "It really is you! I almost didn't dare to believe that the stories were true."

Hawke smiled as he shook the mage's hand. "It's good to see you, Sol. I didn't expect to see you in Tevinter."

Solivitus' face lost most of its shine. "I came here with a group of survivors from the Circle. Things haven't been easy."

"I'm sorry to hear that." An awkward pause followed. "Well, as much as I like seeing you again, we're pretty busy with something here, so unless there's another reason for your visit..?"

"Forgive me, Champion. I will not take up too much of your time. I will get to the purpose of my visit."

"I'm hardly champion anymore," Hawke said. "You can call me Hawke. Or Damian. Whichever you prefer."

"You're still very much a champion to us," the other man said with sudden fierceness. "You're _the_ champion of the mages. The reason we haven't all fallen by Meredith's sword. Every mage who has managed to flee the Gallows owes their life to you."

_He came all the way here to express his immense appreciation for Hawke? How surprising._

Hawke appeared a little taken aback by Sol's conviction. "Well, I'm glad a few mages have made it out and can now live a life in freedom."

Sol scowled darkly. "I wouldn't go that far. The magisters are unhappy with our presence. Over the past months many Circles in the Free Marches, Orlais and Ferelden have been disbanded and many mages have come to Tevinter. We're forced to live in the slums and beg with the rest of the scavengers. There are many enchanters among us, formari, craftsmen, but it's impossible to get a job. Nobody wants or dares to hire or pay us. The magisters refuse to let their system be influenced by foreign mages, despite our talents. Several starving mages have succumbed to the temptation of demons and turned into abominations, wreaking havoc upon the rest of us. Harrowed mages, who have always remained strong and never gave any sign of weakness."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope that in time, things will get better."

An eager smile appeared on Sol's face. "They will indeed, now that you are here. Once again you've fought for your countrymen. You showed the magisters what a mage outside of the Imperium can be worth. You've forced yourself into their ranks, as you forced yourself into a powerful position in Kirkwall. With you as our leader, we can reshape the Imperium from within and finally live as free men."

"Ey?"

_An invitation to another mage war. Also hardly surprising._

For a few seconds Hawke stared at Sol, rather dumbstruck. Fenris wondered in silence why Hawke was still surprised by these kind of situations. Did he truly remain unaware of how trouble followed him around?

"You want me to lead?" Hawke finally asked. "Lead what exactly? A revolution against the magisters?"

"We don't need to go that far," Sol replied patiently. "But you have proven yourself to them. You can be our spokesperson. You can make them see we are not their enemies. We only want to live our lives in peace. Not having to fear an attack while we sleep. If they refuse to see reason... well, we haven't come this far to live in oppression again."

"Then you shouldn't have come to Tevinter," Fenris said curtly. He looked at Hawke, curious to see what he would decide. If Hawke decided to help these mages, he would prove that he valued his own kind above others. Not only that, he would probably end up making the Imperium stronger by bolstering its ranks with more mages. Definitely a good reason for yet another argument...

Hawke awkwardly scratched his chin. "I think you severely overestimate my position here. I fought the duel to get access to certain information, information that's supposed to be inside this mansion. That's the only reason I'm here. I won't stay here for long, and that's probably why the magisters let me be for now. They don't respect me and I don't have the authority to get them to listen to me, especially not about something like this. The Archon said that a few magisters see you as potential competition."

"Then tell the Archon that they have to fear no such thing! If you spoke with the Archon, I think you're being too modest about your current position. The whole city admires you. Everybody is still talking about the duel, and what it can mean..."

Hawke stopped his scratching and dropped his hand. "I didn't intend for that to happen. Look, if the magisters get wind of how I have become some kind of symbol for how they can be defeated, they will put my head on a spike or something like that to prove everybody wrong. I am not going to fuel ridiculous stories about me being a hero for mages. Or slaves," he added, looking at Fenris. "I am here for Fenris. Nothing else. Even if I wasn't, I would not throw myself into another bloody rebellion."

"This is a result of the rebellion you started," Sol retorted. "You can't turn away from the consequences."

"I didn't start a damned thing!" Hawke snapped back. "That was Anders. I couldn't stand back when Meredith wanted to invoke the Right of Annulment for a crime that my friend committed." _That you helped him commit._ "But other than that I don't want anything to do with it." Hawke sighed. "I'm sorry. You'll have to find another way."

Sol nodded slowly, looking extremely disappointed. "I understand, Champion. I had hoped your loyalty to your countrymen and fellow mages would be stronger. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"I wish you the best."

Solivitus was turning away to leave, when Hawke added: "One more thing: you never were my countrymen. I'm from Ferelden. "

"The Circle of Ferelden has fallen as well. There are Fereldan mages among us. And as our Champion, we certainly considered you one of us." Sol's voice sounded bitter when he said that. "I hope you find what you're looking for." With that, he left.

Hawke turned around, rubbing his forehead as if he suffered from a headache. "What?" he asked when he noticed Fenris staring at him.

"You would turn away the people you've fought for?"

"If you disagree with that as well I'm certain you're just looking for another argument."

"I don't, but..."

""But" nothing. That I've been involved in one battle for them doesn't compel me to support them for an entire war, especially if it means opposing every magister in Minrathous."

"Did you refuse because you truly do not wish to fight, or because of me?"

"Both. Now let's get back to work, shall we? Maybe Feynriel has found something useful in the meantime."

Fenris bit his bottom lip, unsure what else to say. He did not even know what it was that was bothering him. Hawke choosing not to be dragged into another mage issue was the wisest thing to do. It seemed he had finally learned from the past. Yet it was not in line with any of Hawke's past actions and beliefs. Fenris had argued with Hawke about mage freedom until they both got tired of the subject. Never had Hawke given the impression that he would change his point of view. But now he would let the mages he had always defended starve in the slums of Minrathous and fall prey to demons. To save Fenris. Was it not wrong that Hawke let go of all his morals in pursuit of a way to stabilize or remove the markings? Or was it normal, would any lover go that far? Fenris knew he would be prepared to do questionable things to save Hawke. Only a few days ago he had killed an innocent woman to accomplish just that.

_"You destroy everything around you, didn't you know?"_

_"Tainted the perfect Champion."_

_"How sad."_

_"He's better off without you."_

He closed his eyes. _I'm not listening. I'm not listening._ It was simply the wisest thing to do. Angering the Archon, Claudius, Macarius and every other magister and member of the Senate was guaranteed suicide. Hawke had finally found some sense in that stubborn head of his. A reason for joy, not worry. 

* * *

The day after Solivitus' visit and plea for help was the day of Claudius' second party. They had spent most of their time continuing their systematic search of the mansion and were now getting ready to go visit the magister. Fenris watched Hawke as he shaved off his three-day beard. The blade caught the light as Hawke moved it up and down and sent it in different directions. It was rather hypnotizing, the sight of silver so close to flesh, with that dark red hidden underneath...

"I enjoyed this more when you were doing it," Hawke commented from his seat in front of the mirror.

Fenris, realizing where his thoughts were taking him, blinked to break free from the mesmerizing effect. "I'm afraid it wouldn't end in a way you'd enjoy if you let me do that now," he muttered back.

Hawke snorted. "I think you're being dramatic. If the urge to kill me was so irresistible, you could jump me right now. After that first... incident, you've never given the impression that you're about to rip my heart out. Clearly you're a lot stronger than whatever demon tries to influence you. You should relax a little."

Fenris put his head in hands. "I keep hearing them, Damian," he whispered hoarsely. "They won't shut up. And I'm just... so tired. I didn't rise before noon and I feel like I haven't slept in three days. Perhaps it would be better if I stay here."

Having finished his shaving, Hawke cleaned his face and dabbed his cheeks with a towel. "No, don't let me go alone!" he whined, throwing the towel on the vanity table he was sitting in front of. "I need you. I can't be alone in a room full of magisters."

"You'll still have Feynriel to talk to," Fenris remarked somewhat sourly.

"I don't even know for sure if he'll be there. And he still can't compare to your company." Hawke smiled innocently - or at least he looked like he assumed he did: Hawke was rarely effective in trying to look innocent. "Think of it as a little distraction. I'm sure you could use some."

Fenris lowered his hands and raised an eyebrow at Hawke. "A distraction? Spending the evening in a room full of magisters?"

"A big distraction then. Come on. I might end up challenging another magister for a duel if you're not there to keep me in line."

Fenris rolled his eyes. "As if you listen to a word of my advice. Fine, I'll go."

* * *

This evening's social gathering turned out to be more intimate than the one that had taken place after the duel. Every magister appeared to be present, but minor members of the Senate and many noble family members were missing. Hawke and Fenris were welcomed by Claudius and his smooth smile and led into the room where everybody had gathered, which was less grand than the dining room of the victory celebration. Instead of chairs, guests were seated on elegant couches with golden fittings. The impressive presence of the Archon formed the center of attention. In contrast, Macarius was lying on his couch on the edge of the group, somewhat removed from the rest of the guests. His unfortunate apprentice was standing next to him, sulkily sipping his wine.

Claudius directed them to two seats surprisingly close to the Archon. Hawke positioned himself with a satisfied sigh, but Fenris declined and remained standing. He refused to lie down and pretend to be one of those pompous leeches. That, and he was certain that he would fall asleep within minutes if he chose to lay down on a couch like that. To distract himself he looked around and scanned his surroundings. Quick slaves hurried back and forth with food and honeyed wine. Magisters talked, laughed, drank and ate. It was the same thing as usual. Only usually these kind of small, "intimate" parties tended to turn more... well, intimate, as the evening progressed. Perhaps it would actually be a good thing when that happened this time. It would provide them with a perfect excuse to leave, and Hawke would get another nice example of how revolting the entire pretentious civilization of the magisters was.

"So, tell me, messere Hawke," Claudius seated himself on the couch on Hawke's left. "How do you like your new home? I trust you've settled in nicely by now?"

"Oh, it's very... grand," Hawke replied politely. "To be honest it's far too big for the two of us. I'd have no idea what to do with all the space if I had to live there permanently."

His eyes narrowing slightly, Claudius sipped from his wine. "Does that mean our beautiful city hasn't won you over yet? How shocking. I can't imagine what Ferelden or the Free Marches have to offer that it trumps the beauty of Minrathous."

Hawke chuckled under his breath. "Don't try to act like you want me to stay here. I imagine everybody here will be happy to see me leave."

Claudius made a disapproving sound. "You're doing our hospitality no credit."

"Oh, a duel to the death is a way of showing hospitality here? It's good you say so, I would never have guessed!"

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor, you do realize that?"

"It's usually the people without any sense of humor at all who say so."

With a dramatic sigh Claudius dropped the subject. After having emptied his glass, he broached the only topic he truly cared about. "How does your investigation fare? Any luck?"

Hawke shook his head. "Unfortunately not yet. I'm afraid I hadn't considered the language barrier, so progress is slower than I'd hoped... but I have no doubt that we will find what we need soon enough."

Claudius raised his glass, which had already been filled by one of the slaves who stood ready to fulfill every approaching need. "Let us toast to that."

Getting sick of the boring, faked diplomacy, Fenris started to wander through the room. He hoped that moving around would help to stay awake.

_"This is boring."_

_"How many could you kill before they take you down?"_

Almost automatically his eyes drifted to a group of three magisters standing quite close to each other to have a hushed conversation. _Two, perhaps three._

_"That's not much."_

_"Would still be fun."_

He ended up on the other side of the room, near an elven slave girl with blond curls that reached till her lower back. "Does your master need something?" she chirped.

Fenris leaned against the wall, glanced at Hawke and shook his head. "He's not my master. We're... together, actually."

The girl's eyes shone with excitement. "Really? You're in love? That's wonderful."

He smiled weakly and looked at Hawke again, who was drinking wine and still conversing with Claudius. "Yes," he then agreed. "I guess it is."

She shuffled closer to him. "So it's true what they say? You killed your master?"

This time his smile was broader. "I did. I tore his heart out."

"And now you're free?"

_"You'll never be free."_

"I am."

"What's it like? Being free?"

He looked down at the girl, with her eager eyes and enthusiastic smile. She seemed a lot more interested in freedom than Elias. Perhaps the younger ones were more receptive to the idea, more willing to escape the magister's yoke. He briefly thought about Hawke's refusal to try to bring about change for the thousands of slaves in Minrathous, or even for the mages he had risked so much for. Ideals were of little use to a slave, or someone on the run. But Fenris was neither of those anymore. Was there no place for things of greater meaning in his life now? True, he had other problems now, demons were playing with his mind. But was that not all the more reason to strive for something? To offer hope to those who were still oppressed? After everything he had gone through, it seemed like the right thing to do. He was tired. Tired of living with nothing but his own problems on his mind. Chances were that there was no cure for the markings' instability. Fenris did not want to waste all his time hoping for a miracle. At the very least he could use a little distraction. Distraction which preferably did not rely on a room full of magisters.

"There's nothing better than not being owned by someone else."

_"How would you know?"_

Fenris continued, ignoring the spiteful whispers. "Outside of Tevinter slavery is not even legal. Where Hawke is from, everybody is free."

"But who does most of the work then?"

"Free people. Commoners. There are servants who do many of the jobs slaves do here, but they get paid for it. They have their own possessions, a family, a home."

The slave's face fell. "That must be amazing. But..."

He leaned closer to her, encouraging her to look up at him. "It's always possible for things to change. The magisters are not infallible. Hawke proved that. I proved that."

She shrugged. "He's like them. He's a mage. And you..."

"Yes, I have the markings. But the most important thing was that I eventually got help. Real strength is in numbers, not in unique, magical abilities."

His driven speech had drained him. He had to lean back against the wall again to stay upright, but the glimmer of inspiration in the girl's eyes was worth the effort.


	18. Chapter 18

The Archon looked down at the magister who was bowing before him, head modestly lowered. "Rise," the Archon told her. "What is the issue you would like to present to the Magesterium?"

This was a private gathering between the Archon and all the magisters. During these kind of meetings the most important events were discussed and a course of action determined. Only then was the subject openly debated in the Senate and an official decision made. A decision that had already been agreed upon during one of the gatherings of the magislation. This was where the true power lay.

Magister Philippa, currently the only female member of the magislation, straightened her back and met the Archon's gaze. The modesty had disappeared now that she was about to share her complaint with the group. "There is great unrest amongst the slaves," she said. "A small group escaped and when they were brought back, others rose up and tried to prevent the fugitives' execution. I've been forced to put down a considerable portion of my stock."

Annoyed, the Archon leaned back in his richly decorated chair. None of the chairs in the room could be called simple and all looked almost like thrones, but the chair of the Archon was - naturally - the most ornate. "How is this an issue for the Magesterium? It is not our problem if you cannot control your slaves."

Magister Claudius rose from his seat. "Apologies, Archon, but I'm afraid this does concern us all. The unrest among the slaves is not limited to the house of Philippa. Unfortunately I, too, have received reports of growing rebelliousness. As a precaution I have had twenty percent of my slaves executed and the rest of them flogged. Yet I suspected something is still brewing. I think most of my colleagues here can confirm this." Claudius looked around. His gaze was met with several nods from other magisters. Satisfied with the agreement, Claudius went on: "It is not difficult to pinpoint the source of this... inconvenience. There is talk about the limits of the Magesterium's power. Danarius' death, and the more recent demise of Gaius are used as examples. They idolize the fugitive, Fenris. To them he is the living proof that slaves can defy their rightful masters."

The Archon leaned forward, his brow lowered threateningly. "In that case, it seems I should hold _you_ responsible for this growing unrest, Claudius. You guaranteed everyone here that you had the situation of the Fereldan and the wild slave under control. Instead, you gave them another victory to talk about, not only for the slaves, but for the commoners and the foreign mages as well."

Claudius paled a little around his moustache. "Gaius should have had no trouble with a Fereldan apostate," he argued. "He was a fool to lose control over his spell. I could not possibly have foreseen that. Nothing should have gone wrong."

"Perhaps I should kill you so you can tell Gaius that."

Claudius bowed as deep as he could. A slave could barely have gone any lower. Yet when he spoke, Claudius' voice did not match the humility of his posture. "There is no need for that. I have already sought him out and inflicted some punishment."

"Rather seems like a waste of time, punishment in death." The Archon leaned back in his chair and gave Claudius an irritated look before addressing the entire room. "Are there any suggestions how to proceed?"

Claudius cleared his throat, which led to the Archon's sharp gaze to return to him. With a quick gesture of his hand, the Archon allowed Claudius to speak. "Perhaps if we could get the barbarian on our side..."

He was interrupted by Macarius' giggling. "Shall we offer the wild apostate a seat among us? After all we now have a vacant spot again..."

Claudius shot his fellow magister an angry look. "Your ridicule is baseless. I would never suggest such a thing. I am merely bringing up the potential usefulness of the man. He is the one who now holds Fenris' leash. He should be able to call the wolf back."

Philippa shook her head. "The slave killed his previous master. He is unpredictable and unreliable. We cannot put our faith in a Fereldan apostate to control him."

Her words were met with a smooth smile. "I think you underestimate the influence the barbarian has on the slave."

"The slave once was Danarius' adoring puppy as well," Macarius cheerfully remarked.

"And how would you convince the Fereldan to cooperate then?" Philippa asked in return. "It's obvious he does not trust us."

"Trust is not required. I suspect informing him of the state of affairs will suffice."

The Archon sighed. "And I assume that we should continue to rely on you in this?"

Claudius made another bow. "I have already dealt with them before. I have become somewhat familiar with their ways. I think I know how to handle this."

Another stern look from the Archon made him lose most of his confidence. "If this escalates any further, we'll know whom to blame," the Archon warned. He looked around. "What is the next topic on the agenda?"

Magister Tullius rose from his seat while Philippa and Claudius returned to their own. "The foreign mages who have escaped their Circles, Archon. Previous reports ensured us that the issue was resolved," a subtle glance in Claudius' direction followed, "but it appears they have increased their resolve. The name of their Fereldan Champion is whispered often, and I have received information that they are approaching Tevinter mages in attempts to get them to join their cause."

Macarius furrowed his deformed brow. "Has the Fereldan joined their ranks after all?"

"Nothing I have heard indicates this," Claudius replied. "He does not appear to leave the mansion much. For all I know he is indeed still busy searching for information on the ritual."

"Did one of the mages' leaders not visit him a few weeks ago, though?" Philippa countered.

"Only once and for a very short time," Tullius reminded her. "That would hardly be sufficient to explain the refugees' renewed vigor."

"Perhaps the slave is behind that as well then?" another magister asked.

"That's possible."

"I've heard of the arrival of another mage," Macarius said, immediately drawing everyone's attention.

"Every day new refugees arrive," Claudius replied dismissively. "How is the arrival of one more of concern to us?"

"Because his arrival appears to be connected to the... what did magister Tullius call it? Renewed _vigor_ of the mages. After you had assured us that the group would disband within days..."

"Care to explain that, Claudius?" the Archon inquired darkly. "I thought you and your apprentice had taken care of this."

"Last new moon everything seemed to indicate that... I... will investigate the issue immediately."

"Your failures are becoming a bit too common, Claudius."

"It will not happen again, Archon."

"One more thing about the new mage," Macarius began, "Although currently my informants lack solid proof for this, word is that the mage was present during the events in Kirkwall that led to the mages' revolt."

"Perhaps an associate of the Fereldan after all," the Archon mused. "We cannot afford to underestimate him again. That mistake has already cost us two colleagues. Claudius, you get one last chance to fix the situation, or you will be the next colleague we'll have to mourn."

The deepest bow from Claudius yet followed the Archon's words. Realizing that the situation was earnest, Claudius quickly went back to his seat, visibly hoping he would be safe for the rest of the meeting.

"Next topic," the Archon commanded.

Magister Varius was the one to answer. "With the current problems with the slaves, I thought it wise to have my stock put down and purchase new ones, but my trader's expected shipment never arrived. One of my other contacts had the same problem. Eventually I was forced to turn to the one man whose shipment did arrive and pay considerably more due to the outrageous price he was able to ask without competition around."

"The weather has been good lately," magister Philippa said. "So it is unlikely the ships were caught in a storm. Pirates then?"

"Or the Qunari," Tullius pointed out.

Claudius could not resist the urge to speak his mind. "Why would the ox-men take our slaves? They have never bothered with such a tactic before."

"That doesn't mean they cannot begin with such a tactic," Tullius argued.

Magister Varius cleared his throat. "If I may... I'm inclined to agree with Philippa. It seems most likely that pirates are at work here. We've had raids on our shipments before. I suggest the standard procedure to deal with them."

"Very well," the Archon decided, cutting Tullius off before he could let out a word of protest. The man saw the hand of the Qunari behind everything. Unfortunately, he was not so easily silenced.

"Archon, what will be our next move against the Qunari? We've been fighting them for years now, yet they still occupy Seheron."

"Forget the Qunari!" Claudius snapped unexpectedly, jumping up from his chair. "We should look to the rest of Thedas. The entire continent has fallen to chaos. This is our chance to strike and retake what is ours!"

Macarius giggled. "We cannot even reclaim one little island from creatures that are little more than beasts, yet you suggest we take on an entire continent? How optimistic."

Claudius ignored Macarius and addressed the Archon directly. "There hasn't been a chance like this in centuries. This is the time to make the Imperium great again! Do you want your rule to be remembered as the one that reinstated Tevinter's glory? Or as the one that had the perfect opportunity, but simply sat and watched as it slipped away?"

After that, the room erupted into chaos. Magisters jumped up from their seats and started yelling their opinion and the facts and opinions on which that opinion was based. Threats and insults were thrown across the room, while Macarius remained seated and laughed to himself. The Archon closed his eyes for a moment and massaged his temples, feeling the weariness seep into his bones. _I'm getting old_ , he thought. Despite still appearing fit, he knew his time was running out, and the magisters knew it too. Three years ago Claudius would not have dared to speak to the Archon the way he had just done. Tullius would not have dared to open his mouth after the Archon had made it clear that the discussion was closed. Unrest was brewing. Among the magisters, among the slaves, among the lower mages - both Imperial and foreign -, and among the people in the rest of Thedas. Chaos was spreading, and it was spreading fast. It already held most of Thedas in its grip, and now it was coming for the Tevinter Imperium. But the Archon would not let chaos take his country without a fight. He would be damned if he let fools like Claudius risk everything. Maker take him if he did not try to protect what was left of their beautiful realm.

Slowly he rose from his seat, until he was standing straight and towering over most of the magisters. He sent out a warning pulse of magic to get everyone to shut up and look at him. When they were all doing just that, the Archon waited a little longer before he spoke. He took great care to put all the authority he had into every word. "It would be foolish," he began, "to attempt to expand our borders while so much unrest is currently brewing within. According to our reports a new slave rebellion is brewing. We have to deal with the refugee mages, pirates, and the Qunari. If we leave to march on the Free Marches, Orlais or Ferelden, we are likely to find the gates of our city closed for us upon return. We have to deal with our own affairs before we can risk an invasion. We cannot leave the Qunari at our backs, free to attack when they see fit." The Archon's eyes sought Claudius'. "I will rather be remembered as the Archon who prevented Tevinter from crumbling from within, than the fool who marched with his eyes on the horizon without realizing the gathering of stormy clouds behind him. I advise you - and that means everyone here - to not press this matter any further before having dealt with your own duties. You especially, magister Claudius. Deal with the Fereldan and the slave. The secret of the ritual is not worth a civil war, especially not one against mages and slaves combined."

All the magisters bowed their head to show they had understood.


	19. Chapter 19

Under the cover of night's darkness Fenris stalked through the empty streets of Minrathous. Most Tevinters stayed away from the streets at night nowadays. With the constant influx of refugees crime had increased dramatically. People resorted to theft, robbery, violence and even murder to fill their empty bellies. More templars were sent on patrol to catch the criminals, but for every individual they arrested three new ones arrived the day after. The templars made it difficult to remain unnoticed, but Fenris evaded them with relative ease. He still knew the way around the city well and slipped from alley to alley, praying that his markings would behave and not give his position away.

He looked up at the sky and attempted to guess the time. It was maybe two hours before midnight. He had to hurry, or Hawke might notice that he had left the mansion. There was no doubt that Hawke would disapprove of what Fenris was about to do, but he could no longer sit idle. Since he had spoken to the young slave girl at Claudius' mansion, slaves had spread the message of freedom and hope. A new rebellion was in the making, but a few impatient fools had turned to action too quickly. Five slaves belonging to magister Philippa had killed two guards and escaped, but of course they had not made it very far. When they had been brought back to their owner to receive their punishment, the rest of the household had gained the courage to stand up against their domina, only to join their fellow slaves in their execution. Naturally this had alerted the magisters, and now over two hundred slaves had been executed as a precaution. Actually, "executed" was a word that was too kind for what had been done to them. Because magisters loved setting examples, the potential rioters had been bound to poles outside of the city walls, with their feet up and head down. There they were left for the crows to peck at their eyes and all the bare flesh they could reach. The sound of the wails, sobs and cries of the poor souls had even reached Danarius' mansion high on the hill.

Such practices were not new to Fenris, but he suspected that the adaptation of hanging the slaves upside down had been thought of by Claudius. The magister's slaves seemed to be the first to undergo this particular form of punishment, though the other magisters were quick to follow the novel idea.

Cruel and pointless deaths. If every slave in Minrathous rose up at the same time, they would have a chance. The small rebellions that were almost constant in Tevinter only ended in the death of the slaves.

_"They're dead because of you."_

_"You told them fancy lies. Such pretty, pretty lies."_

_"They never stood a chance."_

Fenris bit his lip. The demons were right in this. If he had kept his mouth shut that evening, he would not have stirred the urge to rebel in the slaves. Their deaths were on his head. That was why they demanded retribution. The Tevinters had to be shown that they could no longer do as they pleased with the people they considered their property. Fenris would make sure the slaves of the Imperium knew there was hope, that freedom was possible and worth fighting for. He could not let this suffering be all for nothing. For three days he had fallen asleep and woken up to the sounds of the slaves' pain and their pleas for mercy and forgiveness. He would avenge them.

He had reached his destination: a large house in the merchant's district of Minrathous. The house was owned by Merius. Merius was a slave trader, who had made a lot of coin thanks to the execution of a few hundred slaves. Magister Philippa, Varius and Claudius had all needed new slaves and Merius had been happy to provide. For nearly twice as much coin as he would normally have managed to sell them.

It was time for Merius to pay an even higher price.

Fenris looked at the building, trying to determine the best way to get inside. He had not had much opportunity to prepare this action. It was only because Danarius had visited Merius to purchase new slaves once while Fenris was still Danarius' bodyguard that he knew where to find the slaver's house.

He checked the backdoor and windows, but everything was securely locked. Kicking the door in or breaking a window would draw too much attention, so he would have to rely on his markings. Fenris' throat felt dry when he focused on activating the markings on his right arm and hand. To his relief the lyrium obeyed and flashed its bright blue light. Quickly he moved his hand through the solid wood of the door, solidified his hand on the other side, and moved the bolt that kept the door locked.

Fenris withdrew his hand, opened the door and slipped inside. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it. After a few deep breaths the markings stilled, leaving him in darkness. Despite the urge to hurry, Fenris remained at his position against the door for at least another minute. He wiped the sweat that formed on his forehead and rolled down his temples away and shook his head a few times to clear his fogged mind. That this short and simple use of the markings drained him to such an extent was not a good sign. His condition was deteriorating faster and faster. When he went to bed he slept for more than half a day, yet never felt rested when he finally awoke. How much longer until he would not wake up at all?

With a last shake of his head Fenris dismissed those thoughts and set his mind to the task at hand. Thanks to his moment of pause his eyes had had the time to get used to the darkness inside the house, and he could now see well enough to continue his way.

The narrow hall in which he found himself upon entering led him past the slaves' quarters, but Fenris did not make his presence known to them. That would come later. He first had to do what he had come for. The parts of the house that were used by Merius were still lit. Fenris would have to be extra careful to remain unnoticed. Large mansions such as Danarius' had hidden routes that were used by the slaves to get from one room to the other quickly and without bothering their masters with their presence. Without this luxury, Fenris could only hope he would not run into anyone.

The master bedroom was his first destination. This would be easiest if Merius had already gone to bed. There was no sign of anybody while Fenris climbed two sets of stairs and went left on a hunch. The door to the bedroom was open, and a quick glance inside confirmed that the bed was still empty. Fenris turned back and crept down the stairs again, silently contemplating which room he would try next. With the recent fortunate turn of events for Merius' business, perhaps he was counting his profits. Or celebrating them. So... office or living area? Someone who risked the annoyance of the magisters by overcharging them so shamelessly must love coin above all. Office first then.

Guessing that the office would be on the ground floor, Fenris went down the last stairs. He still did not come across anyone, slave or owner. If Merius had been celebrating, surely slaves would have run back and forth to get things from the cellar and the kitchen.

The room at the end of the hall had to be the office. Conducting business was easier when your customers did not have to climb stairs to speak to you. Especially with more powerful clients this would be seen as an insult.

Light shone through the crack between the door and the floor.

_"Time for some action."_

Fenris opened the door and stepped into the office. A man, supposedly Merius, sat with his back to Fenris behind a desk. Several purses lay on the table, some still full, others had been emptied, their shiny content spread in front of the merchant, who was softly counting the gold coins.

Merius did not look up at the sound of the door opening and closing. "Can't you knock?" he grunted while keeping his eyes fixed on his coin.

"I see there is large profit in death," Fenris said smoothly.

Merius turned around in his chair to see to whom the unfamiliar voice belonged. When he saw Fenris standing behind him, he hastily got to his feet and tried to back away, but his desk, covered with all his newly earned gold, blocked his way. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" the man demanded in an angry voice that failed to hide his fear.

Fenris looked past Merius to the coins on the desk. "How much coin did you earn?"

Merius glanced over his shoulder to his gold before looking at Fenris again. "I... I don't know," he stuttered. "I haven't finished counting."

"Humor me with an estimation."

"I... but I..." Upon seeing Fenris taking a threatening step forward, Merius quickly raised his hands and cried out. "No, please! Don't hurt me! I... let me think! Give... give me a moment! My two ships arrived from Antiva. Together they delivered almost five hundred slaves. I sold the good ones for twenty, the lesser specimens for ten."

Fenris' mouth drew back in amusement. Those prices were truly outrageous for new, inexperienced Antivan slaves. The magisters must have been furious when they were forced to pay that much coin to refill their households. It almost made him like greedy Merius. Almost.

"Eight thousand! I think I earned eight thousand sovereigns!" Merius looked relieved that he had managed to come up with an estimation for the intruder, but his relief did not last long. Fenris grabbed a handful of the Tevinter's robes - even non-mages sometimes dressed in traditional robes to create the illusion of high status - and pulled him closer. The merchant was immediately overwhelmed by panic.

"W... what are you doing? What do you want from me?! Who sent you? Aagh!" Merius shrieked in pain when Fenris threw him against his own desk. Coins were pushed off the table and fell to the ground with a tinkling noise. "P...Please! I... who... is it one of the magisters? A fair deal was struck! They chose to pay the price! The market determines what I can charge!"

Fenris bared his teeth in a snarl. He grabbed the merchant once more to flip him around, so that Merius' face was pushed against the surface of his desk. "I don't work for a magister anymore," he growled, while increasing the pressure of his steel claw around Merius' neck.

_"Kill him!"_

_"Kill, kill, kill."_

"Aahh! Then what do you want? Coin? I can give you coin! Just... just let me go!"

He could not simply snap Merius' neck. It had to be clear that none of the slaves in the house had murdered their master, or Minrathous' authorities would have them all join the slaves outside of the city walls. Downside was that it would be easy to pinpoint Fenris as the guilty one. The magisters would likely take action.

_Let them come._

He refused to silently wither away, sleeping so long that each day was a little shorter until there would be no day left. No, Fenris would use his time to strike against the Tevinter Imperium. It was unlikely that he could bring the magisters down, but he would at least be a cause of frustration to them. Killing one slaver would not put an end to Tevinter's slavery, but if the other slavers had difficulty to sleep peacefully at night from now on, then it would be worth it.

"You did not earn enough to pay me," he said to Merius. "Keep your bloodstained coins."

"B...bloodstained?" Merius flayed his arms around in a pitiful attempt to free himself. "I didn't kill anybody!"

"Perhaps not, but you were quick to profit from the execution of all those slaves." For the second time that night Fenris activated the markings. Everything in the room was colored blue by the light that was spread by the lyrium.

When Merius saw the mysterious glow he began to trash more violently, but Fenris was too strong for him. "No, no! You can't! P... please!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears. Without wasting more time or words on the matter, Fenris reached with his hand into Merius' torso, just left of the spine, and solidified with his fingers firmly around the merchant's heart. The next sound Merius could make was no more than a soft gurgle.

Fenris straightened, looking down at the hole in the man's back he had left. Blood oozed from the open wound, already forming a large puddle on the ground and the table's surface. Blood's red swallowed up the coin's gold. _Bloodstained coin._

He staggered, black spots dancing before his eyes. Though he had only wanted to activate the markings on his left arm, the lyrium on the rest of his body was glowing too. His breath came in ragged gasps as fresh beads of sweat dripped from his face.

Then the door was thrown open and three people came running into the small office. _I hope they're not guards._ Fenris tried to stand upright as best as he could, ignoring the unpleasant heat the markings were spreading. With his blurred vision it took him some time to notice the metal ring around each man's neck which marked them as slaves. Apparently they had been alarmed by their master's shouts and had come to see what was going on. Now that they were clearly too late, they just stared at Fenris.

"Your master is dead," he managed to say with some difficulty. "You're free." He let the heart he had still been holding in his hand drop to the floor. The slaves' eyes widened as they watched their master's heart roll away a few inches and eventually coming to a halt before their feet.

"Free?" one of them exclaimed. "They'll have us dead as well for this! We'll be blamed for dominus' death."

"No slave can do what I did to your dominus. They'll know it wasn't any of you."

"Like that will stop them," the second slave snorted. "The Tevinters will blame us anyway."

Fenris pushed the hair out of his eyes with a partially-phased hand. He still had not managed to deactivate the markings. "How many of you are there?" he asked.

"Twenty-two."

"Take what coin you need and leave the city in the early morning. Nobody will know what happened to Merius yet. Get out of Tevinter. Build a free life somewhere. It's probably best if you split up. You'll draw less attention that way."

The slaves' eyes went to the coins, hidden in a pool of blood. Their hesitance was obvious, but eventually they arrived at the conclusion that they had little choice. The man who had been the first to speak stepped forward and began to gather the coins, starting with the ones that were not yet stained with his master's blood.

"What about our collars?" the third slave asked. "Everybody will know us as fugitivus."

Fenris leaned against the wall to stay on his feet. "Hide it underneath a scarf," he replied. "Once you've crossed the border you can let someone take it off." He was running out of time. He had to get back. Reluctantly Fenris pushed himself away from the wall and took a few unsteady steps toward the door. "I have to go," he mumbled to the slaves. "Good luck."

On his way to the door through which he had entered the house Fenris now came across other slaves. They stared at him as he struggled to get past them. He did not bother talking to them. The others would tell them what to do. The markings were still burning. No other option than returning to the mansion as a shining beacon. Fenris felt too tired to even worry about the risk of getting caught in the streets.

He pushed the door open and stumbled into Minrathous' cool night air. A groan escaped him when he thought of the hill he had to climb to get to the mansion. Before setting off, he made one last attempt to turn the markings off. They flickered briefly, then resumed to glow softly. _It's better than nothing._  

* * *

Even in Minrathous miracles happened occasionally. It certainly was a miracle that Fenris made it safely back to the mansion. By sticking to the alleys again and avoiding the wider streets, he managed to remain unnoticed by the patrols. Despite his swift dealing with Merius, at least two hours had passed before he arrived in the mansion's still blooming garden. Fenris walked slowly to one of the ponds and knelt on the edge. He needed to wash before going to bed. His left hand was still covered with Merius' blood, which looked black rather than red in the moonlight.

Fenris sighed when he dipped his fingers into the water. The cooling sensation was most welcome to his feverish skin. Only a few minutes before reaching the mansion the lyrium had finally lost its glow.

While he tried to clean the blood off his hand, Fenris glanced at the mansion behind him. Everything seemed quiet. Would Hawke still be sitting in the library? Their progress so far had been painstakingly slow. Hawke did not know Tevinter's language, and Fenris was inexperienced in reading Arcanum. His reading skill remained more limited than Hawke's as well, because he had cut off Hawke's lessons after barely a year. Most progress came from Feynriel and Elias, and Fenris trusted neither of them to be honest about their discoveries. Elias appeared to enjoy the sight of Fenris' markings slowly eating away at him, and there was no doubt in Fenris' mind that Feynriel answered to Claudius first. Not that it mattered much. Fenris did not believe they would find anything of use in the library. And perhaps that was for the best. Recovering the ritual's secret would likely mean Claudius getting his hands on it. The days of slow, agonizing suffering the innocent slaves outside of Minrathous' walls had gone through were more than enough to convince Fenris that Claudius, nor any of his colleagues should ever have the power to infuse lyrium into their slaves. Nobody else should have to go through what Fenris had endured. As awful as the executed slaves' faith had been, it was modest compared to the torment the ritual had been.

He withdrew his clean hands from the water. Time to go back inside. To bed. Just the idea of standing up was so discouraging that Fenris was tempted not to bother and simply lie down here. His eyes constantly threatened to close, and making it to bed seemed as impossible as solving the problem of his markings.

"And where have you been?"

Fenris started and scrambled to his feet, something he immediately regretted because all the blood seemed to leave his head and he was left even more dizzy and disoriented than he had been to begin with. His unfocused eyes repeatedly glossed over a familiar figure standing in front of him. "Haw..." Fenris felt how he was swaying on his feet. "Hawke." The struggle to keep his eyes open was lost. The Fade had already claimed him before he sank to the ground.


	20. Chapter 20

"If you passed out in hopes of escaping an argument, I'll have to disappoint you."

As soon as Fenris opened his eyes, Hawke demanded his attention. Fenris blinked a few times, then stared at Hawke as he tried to recollect yesterday's events and determine in how much trouble he was. When he recalled Merius' murder, he sighed. He was in a lot of trouble.

In an attempt to give himself a little more time before starting a confrontation with Hawke, Fenris looked around. He was lying in bed. Hawke had been sitting on one of the two chairs on the left of the room with a few books opened on the table in front of him, but now Hawke was standing up and walking towards the bed. Fenris felt a sting in his stomach with the realization that despite his secret disappearance, Hawke had brought him to bed and taken off his armor so he would not be uncomfortable.

Hawke folded his arms in front of his chest when he reached the bed. "You can start explaining any time now," he said grimly. "Where did you run off to? I thought the magisters had kidnapped you or something like that!"

Unable to meet Hawke's eyes, Fenris looked away. "I needed to stretch my legs. Get some air," he mumbled.

He could almost feel Hawke's anger at that evasive answer. "Is that really all you're going to give me? You sneak away in the dark while you should be resting? You couldn't even stand upright when I found you! You were so tired that you fell asleep while you were standing."

Fenris glanced at the windows, through which the Tevinter sun was shining brightly. "How long did I sleep?"he asked Hawke.

"Fourteen hours," was the answer.

Fenris bowed his head. The use of his markings had really taking its toll then. Fourteen hours was a new low. The lines on his left hand - the hand he had used to kill Merius - were still throbbing.

Hawke still sounded angry when he spoke again. "I was worried sick when I found out you had disappeared. I ask you again: where did you go? And why? You're in no condition to roam Minrathous at night!"

Fenris' eyes now focused on his hands. Everything was better than looking at Hawke. To his relief his hands looked clean. Only under his nails he could spot dirty ridges, but he doubted Hawke would have noticed that. "It is better if you do not know," he replied softly. "I did not mean to worry you. You shouldn't have noticed that I had left."

"I always come to check on you after you have gone to bed. You often sound like you're having nightmares, so I just... well, I don't really do anything useful, but I sit by your bed for a while."

Now Fenris briefly glanced up at Hawke, before casting his eyes down again. "I... did not know that," he said dumbly.

"Obviously not, no." A sigh from Hawke. "Why the secrecy, Fenris? I thought we were past this. I thought we could trust each other. You don't have to hide things from me." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "Did you go to the Chantry? To pray? Although I'm not devoted to the Maker, I can understand if you..."

This guess was so ridiculously wrong that it sparked Fenris' anger. "The Chantry of Minrathous, led by the Black Divine, who preaches that the magisters serve the greater good? You must be joking," he sneered.

This was enough to end Hawke's patience as well. "Fine. Keep your secrets," he snapped back. "Since you can't seem to live without them. Get dressed and get down to the library. We still have a lot to do and I need your help. Tonight is another one of Claudius' friendly meetings, so you'll have to reschedule if you were planning to sneak out again."

"You want to visit Claudius _again_?"

"We were invited."

Fenris pushed the sheets away and climbed out of bed. His legs felt less steady than he would have liked, but at least they carried him. "Can't you see that that bastard is trying to manipulate you? The less we deal with the magisters, the better!"

Hawke's eyes were cold and hard as ice. "So far he has behaved as the perfect host. Without his help we would not have gotten as far as we have."

Fenris could barely believe what he was hearing. "Have you already forgotten that his "help" should have led to you getting killed and me as his slave? He is no friend of ours!"

"Do not act like I'm stupid," Hawke bit back. "I do not consider Claudius or any of the other magisters my friend, and I have not forgotten the terms of the duel either. But since the duel we've been allowed to live in this mansion and search for information about the markings in peace, and I'm not going to risk changing that by offending Claudius. If he wants to have us at his parties, I'll gladly show up if that is what it takes to remain here. And maybe, just maybe, they are not all as bad as you keep saying."

 

After Hawke had left the room with long strides, books under his arm, Fenris slowly collected his armor and got dressed.

_"As your master commands."_

_"Little slave."_

_"Little wolf."_

_Just shut up._ But the demons rarely remained silent.

Just as Fenris wanted to pick up his trousers, the markings on his arm burst into full activity and his hand phased, causing his fingers to pass through his trousers without being able to grasp them.

He cursed angrily. "Venhedis!"

The demons cackled in amusement, incapable of any form of empathy. With a furious glare at his disobedient arm, Fenris tried to turn the markings off, but once again they refused to obey him. Eventually he picked up his trousers with his other hand and tried to put them on, but they were too tight to be pulled up with one hand. Under a stream of curses Fenris hopped through the bedroom, struggling with his trousers. A moment later he lost his balance and fell down.

_"Poor thing."_

_"So worthless."_

_"If you let me in, I can make you strong."_

Fenris stayed on the marble floor, his cheek pressed against the cold stone, listening to his breathing, the mockery, insults and proposals of the demons, cursing his current state, waiting for the lyrium to go back to its inactive state. It felt like an eternity, but finally the blue light faded enough for his hand to exit its ghostly state. Embarrassed that he had been unable to complete a task as simple as dressing himself, Fenris got up and put on his trousers, followed by the rest of his armor. His chest piece was hardly necessary, but right now he could use everything that helped to make him feel stronger and safer.

* * *

 

When Fenris descended the stairs, he was stopped by Elias, who seemed to have come from the library. "Should you not be helping Hawke in the library?" Fenris asked the old slave when he did not say anything.

"Dominus asked me to see what was taking you so long," Elias replied.

"Well, I'm already here." Fenris wanted to take the last few steps, but Elias stepped in front of him to block his way. "Is there something you want from me?" Fenris asked with an exasperated sigh when Elias again chose to wait with providing an explanation.

"The stench of death seems to follow you."

Fenris' eyes quickly went to his hand, thinking that he had failed to wash all the blood away after all, but his hands were clean. Irritated, he looked back up to Elias. "You mistake me for a magister."

Elias smiled thinly. "You are just as bad. Only thinking about yourself. I told you it would be best if you abandoned your misguided ideas about freedom, but you had to prove yourself right. You couldn't resist spreading your noble message, couldn't resist the chance to be a hero for us poor slaves." The mild, mocking tone grew cold. "And here's the result: every slave in Minrathous gets to listen to the suffering of hundreds of slaves who have to undergo an execution that can take days to complete."

Although Fenris had blamed himself for this only one night ago, Elias' harsh judgment felt unfair.  "I did not tell them to rebel. Not like this," he objected. "If every slave rose up at once, we would have chance. Magister Philippa's slaves were too eager, and that led to their unfortunate downfall. But it does prove my point. You would be content to serve the rest of your life, but others wish to be free. Do not pretend that slaves do not rebel all the time."

"Do not presume to know what I am and am not content with," Elias retorted. "Again you talk about being in the right, and act like you are not responsible for the death you cause. You are just a selfish, ungrateful dog. Master Danarius was a good master, one I was proud to serve, but you, who had been given so much more than you deserve, decided that you needed more, and murdered him!"

_"Murder him too."_

_"Let him join his beloved master."_

"There was nothing good about Danarius," Fenris could not prevent his voice from rising. "He was a heartless murderer."

"He wasn't the only one."

Reacting to his frustration, the markings lit up again and began to pulsate. Fenris dug his nails into the palm of his hands to stop himself from shaking. "Danarius ordered me to kill. I was a slave without a will of my own, until I was forced to... You dare to blame me for killing Danarius, but for the murders I was forced to commit in his name as well?"

To his surprise, Elias now seemed to lose control of his temper as well. There came an abrupt end to the smooth and vicious pinpricks of insults, the cool and collected manner in which they were exchanged. "Stop blaming Danarius for everything! Not all your murders were commanded by him."

Confused, Fenris shook his head. Was Elias talking about Merius? But he could not possibly know what had happened yesterday. "I do not understand what are you talking about."

"You killed my sons!" The old elf was trembling now that the truth was finally out. He looked as if he had shocked himself by saying it.

Fenris was completely dumbstruck. His first thought was that Elias was mistaken. He had never been ordered to kill any of the household's slaves. Unless Elias' sons had belonged to a different owner, there was no way he could be responsible for what Elias claimed. And Elias seemed to have hated him from the start.

The start... His life had not begun with the ritual.

Elias watched Fenris while confusion made way for a dawning suspicion. After his brief outburst the slave looked like he had himself under control again. "In the tournament for the markings," he eventually said, in a tone that carried only a hint of sadness. "My two boys had been selected to compete. It was a great honor. But I saw them being cut down by your sword. I watched them bleed before you finished them off." He breathed in, but when he spoke again, his voice still did not betray much emotion. "After it was done, you came to see me. I still remember what you said, word for word: that their deaths would not be forgotten. But..."

Fenris closed his eyes and hung his head. "But the ritual wiped my memory."

Elias nodded once. "Not even a week later you had completely forgotten."

Fenris opened his mouth, but then closed it again. He had wanted to say that he was sorry, but he suspected that Elias would not appreciate such an empty phrase. After all he carried no memory of Elias' sons, nor of how they had met their end. Hollow apologies would only be insulting. His next impulse was to question whether Elias had wished one of his sons to survive and undergo Fenris' fate. He very nearly said that death was kinder than the pain of the ritual, but again he quickly changed his mind. The fact that Fenris had not decided to kill himself was enough to disprove such a claim. It would only fuel Elias' impression of his selfish arrogance.

So he said nothing. He stood on the stairs, looking at Elias, who was standing two steps lower, his mind filling with grief, guilt and regret over a deed of which he had no memory of committing.

Elias looked back at him; their mutual silence lasted for at least a full minute. Then, Elias turned around. "It seems you still have some humility left in you after all."

Fenris silently followed him to the library.

* * *

 

The afternoon went by as all the days in the past few weeks had, with the same result: a very slowly increasing knowledge of every document stored in Danarius' mansion, but zero information about the markings. Every now and then Fenris would glance at Elias, but the old elf never looked back in his direction. Fenris only ever got to look at his bald head and the narrow line of his nose. The recent revelation of Elias' two sons explained a lot, but much of the slave remained a mystery to Fenris. Why was he so set on defending Danarius? Why did he consider it an honor to have served him, when it was Danarius who had organized a competition to select the candidate for his ritual? Surely he could not believe that Danarius was blameless in this.

Fenris was not sure what would change from now on, or if Elias' attitude towards him would remain the same. Probably the latter. There was little reason for Elias to stop hating him. After all, nothing could bring his sons back to life.

He stared at the markings on his arm, which began to glow in response. In his bitterness he had always assumed that the ritual had taken every good thing in his life. Fenris had never really considered the darker things which hid in his forgotten past. Perhaps Elias was right about his arrogance. Even as Danarius' slave he had always simply assumed that Elias' dark stares were born out of envy. _Ever the fool._

_"You deserve nothing."_

_"Not even to live."_

Fenris stared at the book in front of him with disgust. Only the magisters would profit if they ever found something of use. Why would he deserve a cure that would condemn so many others to the unimaginable pain of the ritual? Could he put himself above those nameless others, as he had put himself above the slave woman he had killed to break Gaius' blood magic? As he had put himself above Elias' sons? How could he justify that before the Maker? Had the Maker already turned away from him, disappointed in his pride? He tried to tell himself that he did not know the answers to all these questions, but deep down he could not deny what was right.

* * *

 

In the early evening Hawke cut Fenris' constant, somber musings short by announcing that it was time to go to Claudius. Feynriel had already left an hour ago. Fenris made his dissatisfaction clear with an abundance of reproachful scowls, but Hawke chose to ignore his unhappy face. The result was an awkward silence while they walked the short distance to Claudius' mansion.

The magister greeted them with his usual smile and directed them to the room where dinner would be served. Most of the guests had become familiar faces by now. Only the Archon appeared to be absent this time.

"Any luck?" Claudius inquired politely while he sat down next to Hawke.

"Not yet, but we'll get there," Hawke replied with an air of confidence which baffled Fenris.

"I hope you will. It would be a real shame if all of this had been for nothing. Your victory in the arena is still frequently talked about by the people."

Hawke was spared the need to respond to that when ten slaves entered the room with plates with food and bottles of wine. Claudius was a punctual person.

For a while the sound of conversations dimmed and were exchanged for people enjoying their meal. Halfway through, when the initial hunger had been sated, the conversations picked up again. In an attempt to be polite, Hawke inquired about the current state of affairs in the Imperium.

"These are difficult times," Claudius sighed. "As war rages beyond our borders, our own streets are becoming more unsafe with each night that passes. Today the sad news of a most brutal murder has reached my ears." Fenris, who had been dozing over his still mostly filled plate, was alerted by the magister's dramatic manner of speaking and sat upright, but he could not prevent Claudius from talking on. "A merchant was found dead in his own house. I was told there was a bloody hole in his back, and his heart lay somewhere on the floor of his office. Slaves have been known to be violent in their uprisings, but something like this I only thought possible by the hands of one person."

Fenris saw Hawke's eyes shoot his way, then flick back to Claudius. He did not have to hope that Hawke would not connect Fenris' disappearance with what Claudius had just described.

Claudius leaned forward so that he could look past Hawke at Fenris. "Just out of curiosity: where were you last night?"

"Fenris needs a lot of rest in his current condition," Hawke quickly said. "He was vast asleep well before midnight and never left the mansion. As you said, rebelling slaves can get violent. They must have turned on their master."

Claudius studied Hawke for a while, but Hawke maintained an impassive face. Fenris doubted that Claudius was convinced by Hawke's lie, but he did not press the issue. Instead, he shrugged and took a sip of wine. "Apologies for my rude insinuation. You are right of course. We will track down the escaped slaves and get to the heart of the matter. I believe we've already caught three groups that were trying to flee the city. We will get the truth out of them."

* * *

They left as soon as it would not be considered impolite or highly suspicious. Hawke was fuming on the entire way back, and Fenris was surprised that he managed to hold his tongue until they reached the mansion. However, Fenris had barely stepped into the hall and closed the door behind them when Hawke allowed his anger to burst free. "You went away to kill someone last night?!"

There was little point in denying it anymore. "I did."

Judged by the look on Hawke's face, he had still been hoping somewhere that Fenris would deny the accusation. With that last hope dashed, nothing was left to hold his anger back. "What is wrong with you?!" Hawke shouted, his face reddening. "After insisting on caution so many times, you just go kill random people to pass the time? What did that merchant ever do to you?"

"His merchandise consisted of people. He was a slaver."

Hawke raised his arms, clawing his fingers as if he wanted to tear out his own hair in frustration. "This again?! We cannot help the people here, Fenris! You likely just made things worse. You heard Claudius; they've already caught several of the escaped slaves. They are probably being tortured as we speak. What good did it do?"

"They were not supposed to punish them! I made sure they would know it was me."

"You made sure they... by Andraste's flaming beard!" Hawke took a few steps away from Fenris, spun around and marched back. "You have truly lost your mind! Do you want us both dead? Why, it's a big fucking miracle Claudius did not demand your head right there! What are you even trying to accomplish?"

"Claudius," Fenris said through gritted teeth, "is a monster. They all are. You chose to defend them earlier today, saying they might not be as bad as I claim." He started yelling too. "How can you get that out of your mouth with what has happened this week? Did you not step outside and hear the cries of the slaves beyond the walls? Did you not hear them through the open window in the bedroom when you went to sleep and woke up in the morning?"

"As a matter of fact, I have not gone outside, no, because I was busy trying to find the pieces of parchment that are supposed to save your life! And your actions of last night have only added a few more victims to the ones you're yelling about."

"What will happen if you find information on the ritual?" Fenris asked, more softly now.

Hawke's forehead wrinkled slightly in confusion over the sudden change of the subject. "We fix your markings."

"I mean after that. Are you planning to give what we find to Claudius?"

"I suppose." Hawke scratched his chin. "That was part of the deal. We will have no further use of it, and I don't think it's wise to try to screw Claudius over in every aspect of the deal we made. We were already planning to not let him examine you."

Fenris inhaled deeply. "I will no longer help you trying to find it then."

Hawke's fingers stopped its scratching. With his hand still against his chin, he stared at Fenris. "What?"

"I do not believe we will find anything of use, but with the off-chance that the information is among the documents we gathered... the magisters should not be allowed to possess the knowledge of the ritual. The ritual... I do not wish that fate upon anyone else. I cannot claim that my own life is worth enough to let others suffer that agony."

Hawke let his hand drop to his side. "But-"

"There's no "but", Damian. It's wrong, and I will not do it. My life-"

"Your life is worth more than that!" Hawke snapped. "You can't just give up like that."

Fenris shook his head. "I think I can."

"You can't! Look, today was a bad day, this week was a bad week. You're mad, you're upset. I get it. But-"

"There is not "but"! The magisters cannot have the information!"

"Fine! Then we'll destroy it after we've used it. But we have to keep searching."

"You can; I will not stop you. But I will not." Fenris turned away and walked toward the stairs.

Hawke called after him. "Fenris!"

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. "We will talk about this later," Hawke said.

Fenris lacked the energy to continue to debate this. He simply shook his head and started walking again. Only when he reached the stairs he noticed Elias, who had been standing in a corner, hidden by the shadows, and who was now looking at Fenris with a strange look in his eyes. 

* * *

 

In the middle of the night a hand was placed over his mouth and he was shaken rudely until he woke up. Fenris' breath hitched when his sleepy mind became aware of the hand covering his mouth, but before he could grab the person who had woken him, Elias' face appeared above him. "Would you really give up the search for the only thing that can save you?" he whispered.

Fenris nodded, wondering why Elias thought this was so important that he had to wake Fenris in the middle of the night to ask this question.

Elias removed his hand when Fenris had given his confirmatory nod. "Come with me," the slave said. "I need to show you something."

Curiosity and suspicion warred for the upper hand and helped drive the drowsiness away. Fenris only hesitated a moment before he pushed himself up. He looked to his left, where Hawke was sleeping, his back turned to him, still with a hint of the disapproving hunch it had had when Hawke had still been lying awake.

"No, don't wake him," Elias hissed. "Just you."


	21. Chapter 21

Fenris got out of bed and picked his clothes up from the floor. Elias impatiently tapped one foot while Fenris got dressed. When he reached for his chest piece, Elias made an irritated noise.

"You don't need that," he hissed. "Come on."

Caught by hesitation again, Fenris paused for a moment. What if this was some kind of trick? Elias hated him; why would he be up to anything good in the middle of the night? Did Elias hope to punish him now that the truth was out about his sons? Was that why he wanted Fenris to leave his armor behind, to have him as vulnerable as possible?

"Are you coming or not?"

Fenris put the steel chest plate back on the ground. If Elias had wanted to kill or otherwise harm him, he could easily have struck while Fenris was asleep. There had to be a reason for this sudden secrecy. Elias had inquired about giving up the search for information on the markings. Why was that so important to him?

Unable to completely shake the suspicion that he was making a mistake, Fenris nodded in the darkness. "I'm coming," he whispered to Elias.

The old elf immediately turned on his heels and left the room. Fenris briefly looked at Hawke, who still was vast asleep. He hoped he would be back before Hawke woke up. If Hawke found Fenris missing from their bed again, the mansion might be too small to contain his anger. Fenris was not looking forward to another confrontation. Once he had rather enjoyed the debates with Hawke, the back-and-forth about magic and its dangers, about freedom and moving on, leaving the past behind. Of course they had been frustrating as well, but now Fenris almost longed to go back to those arguments. Their current disagreements were so strong that it was no longer possible to simply agree to disagree, and the sharp edge of desperation of it all left neither side unharmed.

With a last look at the man he still held so dear, Fenris turned around and went after Elias.

"I'm ready," he said.

Elias took a lantern which had been standing on a nearby table. "Let's go then."

"Where are we going exactly?"

Elias started walking. "You'll see."

Suppressing a sigh, Fenris followed. _I hope I am not going to regret this_.

_"Fool."_

 

Elias led him down the stairs and through various hallways and corridors without saying a word. For a long time Fenris knew where they were, but as they went deeper and deeper into the mansion, farther and farther away from the living areas, his uneasiness grew. Reacting to his nervousness, the markings began to glow, pulsate, flicker, and glow some more. The blue light shone on the walls and surfaces around them. By the looks of it they were in some kind of storage room.

Elias looked back at Fenris. "Can't you turn those off?" he asked, annoyed.

Fenris made a halfhearted attempt to stop the markings' activity, but as he had anticipated, it made no difference. "No."

With a last irritated huff Elias continued his way. Fenris struggled to keep up with him. His curiosity was wearing thin, gnawed at by his weariness. The thought that he had to stay alert, be prepared for dirty tricks, was what kept him going now. He was beginning to doubt his previous conclusion about Elias' intentions again. Where were they going? Was Elias luring him away to the darkest corner of the mansion to kill him? Had he not assaulted Fenris in his sleep because he had been afraid to alert Hawke?

And yet Fenris kept following Elias. Perhaps his curiosity was not worn out completely yet. After more silence, more walking, Fenris decided to ask one of the questions that kept racing through his mind. "Why have you never said anything?"

Elias did not slow his speed, nor did he look over his shoulder to indicate he had heard Fenris. Fenris already believed the slave did not wish to talk and would not answer, when Elias shrugged. "You never asked."

"I lost my memory. What did you expect? That I read your mind to know what had transpired? How was I supposed to know?"

Realizing that this direction of the conversation would take him nowhere, Fenris retreated and changed the subject. "Why the reverence for Danarius? Even when you hold me fully responsible for taking the lives of your sons, do you really think Danarius is blameless? That he was an honorable person? I have seen him kill a young boy to entertain his guests. Danarius was a monster." Fenris fell silent, fearing that he had only annoyed Elias more with his brief tirade.

Elias' next words were soft-spoken, barely audible, so Fenris almost believed they had sprung from his own mind rather than Elias' mouth. "Their deaths can't have been for nothing. There must have been... a reason. A purpose. It can't have been pointless."

"So you made yourself believe that serving Danarius was a good thing? That he was a good master?"

No response.

"Slavery never serves a higher purpose, Elias," Fenris said. "The masters might think so, tell others that, but for the slaves it is pointless. No reason is great enough to literally own somebody's life. Your sons didn't have to die. They shouldn't have died. They died because Danarius didn't care about them, or me; he cared about his precious project, about finding someone to experiment on."

If Fenris expected words to defend Danarius, they did not come. Elias still did not look at Fenris, still did not slow down. "Perhaps."

Feeling that he had achieved something here, Fenris was able to force his exhaustion more to the background. Perhaps it was possible to reason with Elias after all. Perhaps he was not so blind for Danarius' shortcomings as he had thought. He was still thinking on what the next thing would be to say, when Elias took the initiative in the conversation. "Why did you murder the slaver?"

Fenris shrugged, then realized Elias could not see this with his back to him. "I'm not sure. I wanted to show the Tevinters that they are not as invulnerable as they like to believe. I wanted to do something to avenge the deaths of all those slaves outside of the city walls. It seemed... right at the time."

"Your barbarian did not seem pleased."

"I..." Fenris sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Hawke does not agree, no. He wants to save me. I suppose I would want the same if I were in his shoes."

"You do not wish to be saved?"

"I... of course I do. But not when others will have to pay the price for it. If we find Danarius' documentation on the ritual, the magisters will most likely get their hands on it, and they will use that knowledge to infuse lyrium into other slaves, and I can't... I can't allow that to happen. The pain of the ritual was unimaginable; it wiped every memory I had. Hawke says it has broken me. I cannot claim that my survival is so important that it justifies others having to undergo the same."

The silence returned and stayed for a long time. Elias led Fenris around another corner, holding the lantern in front of him, although that was hardly necessary with the light from Fenris' markings. Fenris wondered if Elias was thinking about his sons, if he was trying to imagine what they would have had to go through if either of them had survived the tournament.

"It is ironic," Elias eventually said, "that killing Danarius is what is now causing your own deterioration."

It was Fenris' turn to remain silent. There was not a day that went by without being confronted with this cruel irony, that he was not reminded of the twisted way Danarius had managed to bind his life to Fenris'. _What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?_

Not content with the lack of reply, Elias pressed on. "Was it worth it?"

"It was." Fenris did not need to give his answer any consideration. "I would do it again, given the choice."

"You wish to die then? Is that it?"

"No." Fenris thought of Hawke, and felt his stomach clench. No, he did not wish to die. Not at all. He had barely been free, had barely had time to enjoy what he shared with Hawke, when the markings had begun to grow unstable. When magic had reclaimed its prominent part in his life. It was so unfair. He had had so little time, and so much of it had been tainted by the influence of demons. Fenris realized he was not even certain how much exactly. The progress had been so subtle, so gradual in the beginning, that he had only truly realized something was wrong when he had almost killed Hawke. What if the first demon had already found its way into his mind at the moment Fenris had torn out Danarius' heart? What if the influence had started then? Perhaps his realization that he could not live without Hawke had not been his at all... That thought made him feel sick. How much of his relationship with Hawke had been under the influence of demons? How much of it had been tainted by it?

_What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?_

Fenris was so consumed by these new realizations that he did not notice at first when Elias had stopped. After several steps he became aware of the fact that Elias was no longer walking in front of him. When he looked around, he saw the slave standing next to an old tapestry with the symbol of the Chantry's sun.

"This way."

The question what way Elias meant was on the tip of Fenris' tongue, when the elf pushed the tapestry aside and disappeared behind it. When Fenris followed his example, he discovered a secret passage hidden behind the tapestry. With a jolt he realized he had never known of this. In all the years he had served Danarius, he had never been here. Fenris had always thought that he knew every corner of the mansion, that Danarius had entrusted him with everything there was to know of the place where he lived. It turned out he had been wrong. Danarius had kept secrets even for his most precious slave. Except for Elias, apparently.

The demons, always with a clear, yet twisted view on his mind, found reason to torment him. _"Jealous?"_

_"Did the sweet master lie to his dearest pet?"_

_"Do you think he's had the old elf as well?"_

_"Guess you were not the favorite after all."_

The secret passage was narrow. Even if they had wanted to walk next to each other, it would not have been possible.

They did not have to go very far now. Soon they stood in front of what looked to Fenris like a solid wall.

He waited without saying anything for a while, trying to suppress both his instincts and the voices of the demons that told him to take action, fight or run away if need be. Before him Elias appeared to hesitate, but eventually he turned around and looked Fenris in the eye.

"I'm still not certain about this, but I suppose it's too late to turn back now."

Fenris' hand had curved into a claw, ready to take a plunge at Elias' heart, or - if the markings would fail to cooperate - grab the slave's throat.

But Elias turned his back to him again and focused his attention on the wall. He mumbled a few things to himself; Fenris thought he heard him count in Arcanum. Then he placed his hand on a stone in the wall which looked exactly like all the other stones, and the wall disappeared. Though Elias did not show his face, Fenris sensed a satisfied smirk through the back of the slave's bald head.

"If I wanted to kill you, I could have had your food poisoned in the kitchen."

Elias stepped into the room which had been revealed; Fenris went after him.

It was dark inside, but several magical orbs reacted to their presence and began to light up. At first sight the room did not look very impressive. The walls were nothing but cold, undecorated stone and the few pieces of furniture were simple: a desk, a chair, a few cabinets and a bookcase.

The only unusual aspect was the floor. In the middle of the room symbols had been drawn on the stone. Elaborate, complex runes and other symbols formed an intricate pattern that contained a power Fenris could have felt even without the tingling sensation spreading through the lyrium.

As the orbs began to shine more brightly, more of the room was revealed. A shimmer near the pattern on the floor caught Fenris' eye. He took a step forward to see what it was, then stopped as he realized. _Chains._ The metal rings were attached to the floor and reflected the magical light like jewelry.

He could not remember ever being here before, but still something about this room felt awfully familiar. It was like he was staring into the face of someone whose name and the occasion during which they had met could not recall. Besides the chains there was nothing that could be interpreted as even slightly threatening, and yet Fenris could not shake the sense of a lingering darkness... of something unpleasant, something bad... of _something_ that was not right.

Elias was standing next to him. "This is where the ritual has been performed."

His mouth felt dry. The weariness, the constant struggle to remain in control of his own mind and the fear of losing that struggle, the desperation of the inescapable idea that his death was near, the knowledge that he was standing in the room where it had all begun, nearly brought him to his knees. It made no sense; this all made no sense. He had almost accepted it, accepted that there was no escape, no stopping it. He had thought that Danarius' presence was equally strong in nearly every room of this cursed mansion, but nowhere was it as strong as here. Danarius' essence was in every stone, his excited whispers in every dusty corner. Fenris almost backed away from the memory of fingers caressing his face, pushing the wet hair out of his eyes. _"You're doing very well, little wolf. You're going to be so perfect."_

He looked at Elias, not understanding why he had been brought here, why Elias was doing this to him, why this room was so awful that he could hardly breathe... Why. _Why?_

"Why?"


	22. Chapter 22

The word echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls, but its question remained unanswered. Fenris mustered his strength and managed to rasp it again, a bit louder this time. "Why?"

Elias made a vague gesture that could be interpreted as a shrug. "I'm not sure."

It was cold in the cellar so deep underground, but Fenris felt the sweat on his face. The burning of the markings made him feel like he had a fever. His eyes refused to focus on Elias' face, making it even more impossible to read the man. Fenris pressed a hand against his forehead. "No. That's not good enough. You cannot drag me here in the middle of the night and then claim you are not sure why you have done so." His voice was on the verge of breaking the entire time. He hated how weak he sounded, and yet it was the best he could do. "What is this place exactly?"

"I already told you. This is where Danarius performed the ritual. Where you received your markings."

"Is Danarius' documentation here? The secrets of the ritual?"

Another vague shrug. "I do not know. But if it exists, it's likely to be here."

Fenris realized he was trembling. His legs could fail to carry him any moment now. _I'll be damned if I faint in front of Elias._ "The magisters have not searched this place?"

"No. No-one knows of its existence." _Except you_. This time Elias was not able to stop pride from finding its way into his voice.

"Why didn't you tell them?"

"Orders from Danarius. Nobody was allowed in."

 _So it is here then?_ The answers they needed? The answers Hawke wanted to find? The documents that could save his life? Fenris wondered whether he was supposed to feel excitement. He felt none. He felt barely anything. _I don't want this._ He wanted to sleep, pretend this was all a dream, that he had not suddenly been given another choice. Giving up on the search was a lot harder when the existence of a remedy was near certain instead of impossible.

"So why have you brought me here?" he asked Elias again. "After you heard me say that I wanted to abandon the search. Is that it? You want to rub it in, demand that I stand by my decision?"

A few seconds of silence. Then the surprising reply. "No." Elias' vague figure folded his arms. "I make no demands. I did not do this to test you." He paused. "Or maybe I did. I am honestly not quite sure why I chose to do this. I think it seemed like the right thing."

If he had had the energy for it, Fenris would have laughed. Now only a faint grunt came over his lips. _The right thing. The Imperium and its citizens have lost sight of that a long time ago._ "I don't believe you acted out of the kindness of your heart. Why would you wait until now? You've kept this quiet long enough. And why show it to me, and not Hawke? He is the one still looking for it."

Elias tilted his head to the side. "I never claimed this is a kindness. Judged by your reaction, it is the opposite, though it is not meant as torment either. I just thought you deserved all information to be able to make your choice. And if what you claim is true, if the Fereldan is not your master, then it is your choice to make, and thus you are the one who needed to be shown this."

Fenris' head was spinning. _This makes no sense._ Why would Elias suddenly have a change of heart? He was not the type to unexpectedly take pity. The slave had still not answered that short, simple question. Had not given a proper reply to that single word: why? "I... still do not understand," Fenris said slowly, every word a struggle now. "You think my freedom is a jest. Since when do you care about my opportunity to choose? Why would you..."

"Does it really matter?" Elias sounded irritated. "I have shown you the secret of this house. It's up to you what to do with it. Stick to your principles or save your life; it matters little to me. At least it will be interesting to see what you decide."

With that Elias left Fenris alone. Alone with Danarius' lingering ghost.

_"Fenris. My dear Fenris."_

He sank to his knees, almost in the middle of the mysterious pattern of runes and symbols. _"You know master loves you, don't you?"_

He traced a few of the drawn lines with two fingers. They appeared to have been drawn with chalk, but his fingers stayed clean and did not smudge the pattern in the slightest. _So this is where it began. My life as Fenris._ Fenris withdrew his hand and clasped it with his other hand in his lap. _This is where Leto died._ In a way he was just as dead as Elias' sons. Or at least Leto, the boy he used to be, was. He had tried to revive him, reclaim that past, but what was dead stayed dead. His sister had not even felt enough of a connection to stop her from betraying him.

Would he soon be truly dead? Would the markings burn until they had burnt him up like a candle? He could feel himself weakening with each passing day. The abnormal exhaustion only increased, no matter how much he slept.

_"My little wolf."_

Unless the solution was here. Unless Hawke could use the information to stabilize the lyrium. If there was a chance to live, it would be here, in this room. But Hawke was not the only one looking for it. Claudius was very eager to get his hands on Danarius' documentation, just like every other magister and apprentice in the Imperium. If Fenris would suddenly recover, they would not rest until they had what they wanted. They would never let them get away otherwise.

_"You're so perfect, little Fenris."_

It took all the strength he had left to stand up. He had no idea what time it was, but knew he had to get back before Hawke would wake up and notice Fenris' absence. He had to leave before he fell asleep on the cold stones, between the chains that had once held him to be exposed to excruciating pain.

While Fenris stumbled through the narrow passage that had led to Danarius' secret room, he heard the rumbling of shifting stones: the hidden doorway was closing behind him.

There was no trace of Elias while he found his way back to the bedchamber. The mansion was dark and silent, all its inhabitants currently in the embrace of the Fade. Walking through the empty halls made Fenris feel like a ghost, alone in the darkness, unable to truly grasp the world around him.

_"Fenris."_

A ghost among ghosts. How much longer before he became a real ghost? How long till the markings would have burnt him up? But it did not have to be that way... What Elias had shown him might be the way to recovery. His recovery. The damnation of others.

Fenris opened the door to the bedroom and slipped inside. He found Hawke still asleep, his hair spread over the pillow. Hoping the light of the markings would not wake him, Fenris slowly walked to his side of the bed. The lyrium had dimmed during his way back, but had decided it was time for a last burst of bright light as soon as Fenris had placed his hand on the doorknob.

Hawke sighed in his sleep and rolled on his other side, so that he was facing Fenris, but his eyes remained closed. Fenris let himself fall down on the bed, as far away from Hawke as he could manage. His markings calmed again, so the night could reclaim the room. In the dark Fenris could barely make out Hawke's features, but his memory filled in what the lack of light left unseen without effort. The strong, nearly straight line of the nose with the high nose bridge which almost looked like it belonged to an elf. The broadness of the brows that clearly spelled human. Eyes, not only invisible because of the darkness, but hidden behind closed eyelids. Yet those were the easiest to picture, with their color that seemed to change depending on their owner's mood; from the warmth of a clear summer's sky to the bitter cold of a frozen lake. How many times would he get to see them again? But it did not have to be that way...

_"What do you care about those nameless others?"_

_"Surely you are better than them."_

_"You deserve more."_

_"Live."_

Fenris closed his eyes and curled up into a ball. The leather of his armor chafed, but he hardly noticed it. Leto might be dead, but his legacy was unshakable. How many lives was one supposed to lead anyway? Leto, Fenris the slave, Fenris the escaped slave, Fenris the free man... They seemed like different people, different lives. Perhaps this should be enough. But it did not feel like enough... He wanted more, more time in this last life, as Fenris the free man.

Suddenly the memory of his sister's voice echoed through his head once again. The sister who should be as dead as Leto was, but who had survived thanks to Hawke, so that she could spew her poison. He would never forget her words, dripping with spite. _"You wanted it. You competed for it."_

The choice had been made long ago, by a different person, a different version of himself. All that was left was stick with it.

_"But it doesn't have to be that way..."_

* * *

As usual Fenris found himself alone in bed by the time he awoke. Midnight's darkness had long since fled for the light of the sun. Because it was a cloudy day Fenris had no clear view on the stance of the sun, but he suspected that it was already late in the afternoon.

He was just attempting to freshen up by washing his face with water from the bowl which had been placed on the nightstand, when he heard the door open. Fenris' first guess was a slave coming to check on him on Hawke's orders, but the footsteps were too heavy for an elf. A look over his shoulder confirmed Hawke's arrival.

"Finally awake I see."

Fenris turned away from the bowl and nodded. "If only it would make me feel rested. I feel as if I've been up all night."

Hawke moved away from the door, his clothes rustling with every step. "Haven't you?" he asked.

Fenris' stomach clenched nervously. "No."

"Oh." A glimpse of fake relief played over Hawke's face before disappearing abruptly. His eyes darkened as if a storm was coming up behind them. "So now you're wearing your leather as pajamas?"

He had been so tired that he had not thought of undressing again. He had simply crawled into bed and fallen asleep. At the back of his mind he heard the demons laugh.

No lie would be good enough to clarify this. He had worn nothing but his underclothes when he had gone to bed the first time, and Hawke knew that. Lying would increase Hawke's suspicion and distrust and further widen the rift between them.

Or he could tell the truth. Be saved.

"I..." Fenris raised his eyes from the floor to look at Hawke. He looked exactly like Fenris had pictured him in the darkness of the night. Brows drawn downward in a disapproving frown, eyes still a clear, light blue, but seemingly a few shades darker than usual. The light, almost pale shade of his skin that was accentuated by the dark blue of his robes...

 _Robes?_ Fenris felt his own brows knit together. _Hawke is wearing robes again_. He could scarcely believe that he had not seen it immediately. "What are you wearing?"

Hawke folded his arms in front of his chest. "Don't change the subject."

"Why are you wearing robes again?" Something told him that this should not upset him so much, that Hawke had worn robes for years, that he had done so even before they had met. They were just robes, fabric, worn to stay warm and comfortable. They were just clothes.

But they were in the fashion of Tevinter. This was what magisters wore. And Fenris could not separate that. Not here. Not now.

"Why did you suddenly wear your leather in bed?" Hawke demanded in return. "I'm pretty sure that if it was supposed to be some kind of kink, I should have been awake for it."

"Did those belong to Danarius?"

That got Hawke off his own track. His cheeks grew red, either from anger or embarrassment. "Of course not! I would never wear the same thing as that bastard! Do you honestly think I went through his closet, thinking "ooh, this is nice! That would look good on me!"? If you must know, Elias bought them for me at the market. When he showed them to me, I realized I was sick of wearing pants. And I did not want to be rude. That's it."

"What about your fashion statement in Minrathous? What about looking different than _them_ , to show you have nothing in common?"

Hawke made a dismissive gesture. "That was a stupid idea anyway. You thought so too, so why would you suddenly care now? Who cares what I wear? Surely not " _them_ "."

_"The word is "master"."_

_"Yes, dominus."_

Hawke breathed in sharply through his nose. "I'd still like to know," he said with a voice that failed to sound completely calm, "why you were dressed when I woke up."

_"It doesn't have to be this way."_

Fenris cleared his throat. "I..."

_"You said you never asked for this, but that is not true."_

His eyes dropped, back to the floor.

_"You wanted it, you competed for it."_

"I was cold."

He heard Hawke exhale. "I'll ask for a thicker blanket," he snapped, before slamming the door shut behind him.


	23. Chapter 23

The following days passed in silence, at least as far as the issues with Hawke were concerned. The demons never fell silent. They mocked Fenris' decision to keep the truth that could save him hidden, scolded him for being weak, tried to persuade him to give in, save himself, let one of them in, kill everyone who dared to enter his field of vision. Their assaults continued to beat on Fenris' mind and left him numb. During the hours he was awake he wandered through the mansion and occasionally the streets of Minrathous as the ghost he would become, or already was, while Hawke continued to spend his days in the library with Feynriel and Elias. Searching for answers that were hidden deeper inside. Inside the mansion, inside Fenris. But Hawke did not know the mansion's secrets, nor did he know Fenris'. The past few days they had barely spoken, hardly even seen each other. When they did come face to face, Fenris wished it to be over as soon as possible. The distrust on Hawke's face hurt. He wondered how much longer Hawke would continue his doomed search. It would probably end soon enough. Why bother trying to save someone who refused to be saved? Why go through all the trouble for someone who could hardly look you in the eye anymore? It was better this way. It would help both of them to let go. The distance between them would make holding on impossible. Easy.

He vaguely recalled attempts to apply a similar strategy during their time in Kirkwall. Running away and hiding, lying to not have to look at Hawke's heart or his own. It had not worked then. Or had it? He was no longer sure. No matter. This time it would. Now time was on his side. Time was limited, and eventually he would slip away from this world. Or perhaps it was just the end of another life. Perhaps Leto would return when Fenris died? Fenris knew that thought made no sense, but it bubbled up inside him nonetheless.

_Maker, am I losing my mind?_

The Maker did not deign to answer. There was only room for demons in his mind.

_"There is no Maker."_

_"You only have us."_

_"Let me in. I will make you strong."_

"Shut up," Fenris muttered, knowing already that he would be ignored. A dock worker walked past and looked at him with an odd expression on his face. Fenris wondered if it was because of the usual questions his appearance raised, or because he had just told someone to shut up while he was obviously alone. He had forgotten for a moment that he was in the harbor, among other people. He grimaced to nobody in particular as the sounds and smells of the harbor reached his senses again. The scent of freshly caught fish, herbs and spices, wool and other goods that were loaded on, and unloaded from, ships formed an unpleasant combination, but Fenris liked coming here nonetheless. Such things reminded him that he was still of this world.

The streets were becoming less crowded. When their job was done, laborers fled from the cold into their homes or a tavern to warm themselves. A look at the darkening sky told Fenris that the short winter day was already nearing its end. How long had he been standing here? Less than an hour, surely. It was difficult to keep track of the days when he slept so long every night.

He turned around, face towards the rest of Minrathous, to return to the mansion. He would like to get back before dark. The random pulses of his markings drew even more attention in dark surroundings, and he did not care for more eyes upon him.

He had come here to think, but now that he was forced to return Fenris had to admit that his mind had drifted and that he had not come up with anything that resembled a plan. Killing one slaver was hardly enough to change the ways of Tevinter, but Fenris was unsure how to proceed. All strategies he could come up with would only end in the death of himself and undoubtedly many slaves. If you could even call them strategies...

_"Kill them all."_

There had to be something he could do, people he could speak to, to encourage slaves to take action. Then again, he had spoken to one of Claudius' slaves, and that had led to pointless death as well. And yet he had to do something before he would no longer be capable of taking action.

"Dominus! Dominus!"

Fenris raised his head to see a small figure running off the hill in his direction. He halted and waited for it to reach him. Fenris did not recognize the elven boy that approached him, but the collar around his neck marked him as a slave. "What is it?" he asked while the boy was catching his breath.

"Dominus sent me to fetch you. I had to remind you of an appointment with magister Claudius tonight."

_He sends a slave to look for me._

The boy looked up nervously, sensing Fenris' anger. "Apologies, dominus. I was just doing what I was told. I don't want any trouble."

With difficulty Fenris swallowed his frustration back. "It's alright," he said. "I will go with you."

* * *

Hawke was already waiting for him when Fenris finally arrived, with Feynriel by his side this time. Fenris tried to ignore the hint of relief he saw on Hawke's face when he stopped in front of him.

"There you are."

"I was already on my way back when your _slave_ told me you summoned me," Fenris said sourly.

Hawke had the decency to flinch. "I didn't mean it like that," he objected weakly. "I did not _summon_ you, but..."

"You sent a slave to tell me to come over here and sit up with you at Claudius' command."

Hawke sighed. "If that is how you want to see it. Let's go then."

For a moment Fenris considered refusing to cooperate, but eventually decided it was too much trouble to have to go through the same discussion again. Necessary as it might be, he did not wish to spend all the days he had left arguing with Hawke. Keeping the most important thing from him was difficult enough. It would be better to cooperate with issues of lesser importance. So he nodded and followed Hawke and Feynriel when they started walking.

Though Fenris tried to remain a few steps behind them, Feynriel soon lowered his speed to walk next to him. "I haven't seen you in a while," the mage said. "How are you, Fenris?"

Fenris did not look at Feynriel, but kept his eyes fixated on Hawke, who was walking in front of him. "I am fine. Thank you."

"You look tired."

Hawke was wearing robes again, this time in a deep purple with some embroidery on the edges of the sleeves. His staff was strapped on his back.

_"Fuck."_

_"Kill."_

_"Make him pay."_

To break the demons' focus on Hawke's back, Fenris now did glance at Feynriel. "You have no idea."

"I'm sure we'll find the remedy soon."

Fenris only hummed in reply. _So you can give it to Claudius, no doubt._

With that, Feynriel's inspiration for conversation seemed to have ended, so they walked the rest of the way in an uncomfortable silence. 

* * *

The beginning of the evening at Claudius' mansion went by like all the previous ones had. Lots of fake smiles, small talk, food, wine, and slaves to tend to every guest's needs. Magisters sauntered through the room like they owned the world, apprentices like they would inherit it. Fenris tried to shut it all out until it would be over. Hawke had already disappeared from his side, whisked away by Claudius and his smooth tongue. Fenris watched how Hawke talked to Claudius and Feynriel for a while until he could no longer stand it. With those robes Hawke blended in a lot better than previously. The length of his loose hair was now the only remaining characteristic that set him aside from the Tevinters. Other than that he was just a mage among mages.

Feeling his mood sour, Fenris searched for someone serving wine in hopes of softening the rough edges of this evening. While scanning the room, his gaze returned to a far corner. A man in robes appeared to be pressing an elven girl against the wall. Her simple, yet revealing dress immediately made her identifiable as a slave.

Before he was even aware of it, Fenris' feet were carrying him in the couple's direction. As he drew closer, it became clearer that the slave was not cornered willingly. Her face was turned to the side, fear and uneasiness wrinkling her forehead. Long, thin fingers traced her neck, drifted down to squeeze her small breasts, continued their way down.

Fenris increased his step length. His vision was narrowed down to the two people in front of him, focused on the magister's hands. Even though the magister's attention was clearly unwanted, the girl did not struggle. What other choice did she have? A slave had to suffer the whims of those placed above him, had to accept snaking hands upon him, had to welcome undesired touch. A slave had no choice, was only to be used as his master saw fit.

Fenris was no longer a slave.

_"Kill!"_

_"Let us see blood!"_

He stopped one step away from the couple. The man was hunched over the slave girl but was clearly at least a head's length taller than Fenris. No matter. Fenris was stronger.

He considered giving a warning, urging the magister to turn his unwelcome attention elsewhere, but the man had noticed Fenris' presence next to him. "Get lost, slave," he grumbled, barely bothering with a glance in Fenris' direction.

Would that he had.

With a loud roar Fenris grabbed the magister's arm and threw him against the wall, away from his victim. Immediately Fenris was upon him, one hand clad in steel around the magister's throat. _Here's some unwanted touch for you_.

Something close to fear began to dawn on the magister's narrow face. Many Tevinters would consider him attractive, with his light hair and sharp, almost delicate features. Fenris did not recognize him from his time with Danarius, and did not know the man's name. He did not care to know it. These were his final moments.

Undoubtedly the magister was capable of scorching Fenris on the spot, of making his blood  boil within his veins, of making his hands unable to obey his will. But for that he needed time, and the surprise of Fenris' sudden assault had made him slow. Fenris was too close, able to end the magister's life before he could cast a spell.

The magister's magic pulsed underneath the markings on Fenris' hand. He felt the heat spread through his arm, tainting him even with a simple touch. _Filthy magic. What has it touched that it doesn't spoil?_

_"KILL!"_

Fenris opened his mouth for another wordless shout and drove his other hand forward. To seperate the magister's heart from his chest, or to join his other hand around the man's throat and crush his windpipe, Fenris did not know yet. He only knew it would cause the magister's death.

"FENRIS!"

A fraction of a second before Fenris' hand reached the magister's throat an invisible force hit him and sent him flying. When he hit the floor his vision turned black for a moment, but thankfully he did not lose consciousness. As surprised as the magister by this unexpected attack, Fenris lay on the floor a while longer before his dazed mind told him to look for his assailant. He raised his head, eyes searching for the person who had dared to use magic against him, dared to prevent him from killing, had the gall to deny him blood. He expected to see Claudius, the Archon, or even Macarius or Feynriel, but his eyes only found Hawke.

Hawke, pale-faced and eyes wide, staff in hand, stood a few feet away from Fenris and stared at him. Fenris stared back, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, his mind still needing more time to reach the inevitable conclusion. The taste of blood filled his mouth; he had bitten his lip during his fall.

Then the realization finally arrived. _Hawke._ Hawke had used magic against him. To save a magister.

Behind Hawke, the magister was starting to recover from the shock of having Fenris' hand around his neck. "He... that _animal_ tried to kill me!" he sputtered. "I demand-"

Claudius appeared next to the furious magister. "Dear Varius, are you alright?!"

 "No, I'm not alright!" Varius yelled back. "I was just assaulted right under your roof, Claudius!"

"My deepest apologies, my friend. How fortunate we had serah Hawke present! He clearly has the quickest mind of all of us." Claudius jovially clasped a hand on Hawke's shoulder to show his gratitude.

Hawke did not respond to the gesture or Claudius' remarks. He was still looking at Fenris, his expression now almost pleading. Around them, all the guests were staring.

Fenris pushed himself up and spat out some of the blood. Wild, blind rage was whirling inside him, beating against the weak constraints containing it. Hawke's betrayal was so great that Fenris still found it difficult to grasp.

Slowly het got to his feet and tested his balance.

"Claudius, this cannot stand! I demand this monster is punished, right now!"

"Come now, Varius. I'm certain we can work something out. There is no need for..."

Fenris did not hear what else Claudius was saying. He broke eye contact with Hawke and walked away, pushing bystanders aside, leaving the room filled with treacherous mages behind. 

* * *

He wandered through the dark streets for a long time, without knowing or caring where he was going. In Fenris' head there was only room for the impact of Hawke's force magic, which had prevented his steel gauntlet from destroying magister Varius' windpipe. Why would Hawke protect a magister, prevent him from meeting deserved end? What other reason could there be than that he counted himself one of them? A mage among mages.

_"See, you can trust no one."_

_"We're all you have."_

How could he disprove them?

Eventually his indignation dimmed, more smothered by weariness than reason or forgiveness, and he returned to the mansion. 

* * *

There was nobody to be seen in the mansion while Fenris walked through the hall and climbed the stairs. Not even Elias was hiding in a corner to look at him with silent disapproval. Hawke must still be at Claudius' party, that everything had been left dark. Fresh anger welled up at the thought, and with gnashing teeth Fenris opened the door to the bedroom.

"He finally returns."

He quickly turned to the direction the voice had come from. The bedroom was dark, like the rest of the mansion. The only light came from Fenris' disobedient markings, and they revealed Hawke slumped in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the bedroom from where the bed was placed. Several objects around the chair glimmered in the blue light. They looked wine bottles.

Fenris carefully closed the door behind him, not certain what reaction to expect from both Hawke and himself. If the slurred manner in which those words had been spoken was anything to go by, not all of those bottles were still filled. Deciding to wait for Hawke to say something else, Fenris leaned with his back against the door.

"I hadn't realized that you have actually given up." Hawke leaned forward in his chair, revealing a wine bottle in his right hand. "But you have, or you wouldn't have tried to do what you did..." He shook his head. "How can you just give up? I want you to fight! Fight, damn you!" He smashed the still partially filled bottle on the marble floor and jumped up. Fenris felt a few drops land on his bare toes.

Fenris had wanted to give Hawke a piece of his mind when they saw each other again, berate him for using his magic against him, but now he suddenly found himself absent the will to do so. Perhaps it was because of Hawke's reaction. Perhaps he was simply too tired to still care. Fenris let his head lean back, so he was staring at the ceiling. "Perhaps it is for the best," he said hoarsely. "if I die..."

"No!" Hawke erupted, seemingly having lost all control. "No, you cannot die! I won't let you!"

" _Let_ me?"Fenris' head snapped back down, the first spark of his own frustration reignited by this new example of Hawke's arrogance. "I must have missed the occasion during which you were named Maker in addition to Champion of Kirkwall, that you get to decide who lives and who dies."

Hawke was leaning with one hand on the table to support himself. In the limited light Fenris could not see his face very clearly, but when Hawke spoke again, every word burned with determination. "I. Will. Not. Let. You. Die," he breathed through gritted teeth. "Why don't you _trust_ me?"

Fenris abandoned the support of the door and took a few steps into the room. Not towards Hawke, but to the left, in the direction of the bed. "You used your magic against me!"

"I had no choice! You were about to butcher a magister in the house of another magister, surrounded by magisters! Do you really think they would've let that slide? They would have killed you on the spot. And me as well."

"He deserved it!"

"Why?" Hawke demanded. "What terrible thing did he do that his death was worth your own, and mine in addition?"

"Does it matter? My reasons won't be good enough for you anyway, since you already chose to defend one of your kind," Fenris spat.

"My kind?" Hawke repeated, suddenly less loud. He took a wobbly step away from the table, towards Fenris. "This... again? I thought we had moved past this." He took another step. "You suddenly use the mage argument against me? I seem to recall... you saying... that you did not care about it... that you forgot about it when you were... with me. And now you name _this_ as your reason? That is why you would not trust me? Why does this," Hawke raised a fist and let it fall back down. Behind him the table creaked and collapsed, its legs crushed by an invisible weight. "suddenly matter?"

"Because it matters here!" Fenris shouted back. Then added more softly: "Because it's the only thing that matters here." He turned away. It was not supposed to go this way. Hawke was not supposed to get so close, should not still be able to move him so, was not allowed to drag the truth out of him. Why could Hawke still do that? They were supposed to be miles apart; there was supposed a rift between them that could never be closed. Where was it now?  Where had it gone?

A hand reached out to him, touching his arm. _No_. It flashed through him with the same speed as his markings lit up more brightly. Fenris grabbed Hawke's arm, turned it and shoved him away until his back hit the wall. When Fenris' eyes met Hawke's, the similarity to an event which had taken place more than three years ago hit him. They had once stood almost exactly so in Hawke's hall, the day he had killed Hadriana and found out he had a sister. The evening they had first kissed. The first time they had spent the night together. Part of the night. Before Fenris had fled.

Fenris let go of Hawke's twisted wrist as if it had burned him. He was about to step back when Hawke's voice stopped him. "Touch me." Then, more resolute: "Fuck me."

Surprised, Fenris looked up. Hawke's cheeks were flushed, his eyes watery from the alcohol, but his gaze was firmly focused on Fenris.

_"Yes! Do it."_

_"Fuck him."_

_"Make him pay."_

_"He denied you blood. Let's have his."_

Fenris opened his mouth. A few moments long he was not able to produce any sound. "No," he finally managed. "I... I can't."

Hawke shuffled a little closer. "Please. It's been so long... I miss you."

One push was enough to make Hawke fall back against the wall again. "Stay back, Damian," Fenris warned in a voice heavy with emotion.

Hawke remained on his spot against the wall now, but his eyes did not release Fenris. "Why? Do you not want to?"

_"Take him!"_

"I... I no longer know what I want. I... they..." he swallowed and felt his last resolve crumble. "The demons... they keep telling me to... I don't know whether what I want is really what _I_ want, and not one of their twisted desires. I... I mean... I killed Danarius before we... got together. What if that was because of demons as well? What if they made me want you?  I don't know if..."

Hawke made a whining noise. "No, please don't say that! This is real, Fenris. I... I know it is. It has to be. Demons know nothing about love, and what we have, started long before you killed Danarius. I know it has for me. Three years I've waited... no, scratch that, I've been waiting before that as well." Hawke came forward again. "Have you forgotten those three years?"

No, he most certainly had not. Fenris backed away, his panic increasing while his ability to fight fled. "I can't! I can't."

Hawke stopped. "Why not?!"

"Because I almost killed you last time!"

To Fenris' bewilderment, Hawke started laughing. It began as a giggle, but quickly grew into a burst of mad laughter. In the end Hawke was throwing his head back and almost lost his balance. He had to quickly stretch out an arm to hold himself upright against the wall. When his laughter finally ceased, he looked up at Fenris. "You couldn't kill me, even if you tried," he said. "Don't you see? Everyone around me dies, and I am the only one who remains. I am the only one left..." Again he took that one step that separated them. This time Hawke's mouth descended upon Fenris' before Fenris could force him away. Fenris' body froze at the sensation that had become so close to unfamiliar. Hawke was right, it had been so long... But he had to resist, should not give in...

Fenris broke the kiss, once more pushing Hawke back. He stared at Hawke, his taste, heavily accentuated by wine, upon his lips. He tried to think, tried to recall the reasons why this was wrong, why it was no longer allowed, and drew a blank.

_"Take him."_

A few more seconds they stared at each other, then Fenris was the one to take that single step that separated them. He wanted to say something, lean into Hawke, but his markings had made his arm phase, causing it to go through the wall and Fenris to fall forward instead of finding stable position. Hawke caught him, and a choked noise that sounded a lot like a sob escaped from Fenris' throat. When he raised his head he felt tears roll down his cheeks. Hawke caught one with his thumb and wiped it away before attempting a careful, tender kiss, which Fenris eagerly responded to.

Salt mixed with wine upon their lips, and it took Fenris a while to realize his own tears were not the sole cause of it. "I don't want to lose you," Hawke whispered against his mouth. "I can't. I just can't. I c..."

A more intense kiss silenced him. _Nothing can be worse than the thought of living without you._

_"Make him suffer."_

Images of biting and scratching flashed through Fenris' mind, making him shudder against Hawke with disgust of the monster residing within him that could desire such things, but he did not draw away. Instead he clung to Hawke more fiercely, tearing robes rather than skin. Caught by an equally desperate need, Hawke began to strip Fenris from his armor. With relief he saw his steel gauntlets fall to the floor. _One means less of inflicting pain._

Soon Fenris stood naked in front of Hawke. Hawke had to release Fenris' grip on him to be able to shed his torn robes. Now that they were finally so close to each other again, sharing panted breaths and kisses, Fenris could not bear them to part, even for the briefest moment. Hawke appeared of a similar mind.

Once they were both undressed, Hawke guided Fenris to the bed they had both slept in for weeks, without truly sharing it. The human's naked skin against his chest and abdomen elicited a strong reaction from the lyrium everywhere on Fenris' body. The markings blazed, burned and pulsated vigorously, and Fenris trembled as if he had a fever.

"I can't lose you," Hawke said again when they lay down on the soft feather mattress. "I can't. I can't."

Fenris crawled into his arms to share another kiss, and wrapped his fingers around Hawke's shaft in hopes of distracting him.

"No." Hawke shook his head and softly pushed Fenris' hand away. "I want you. Please."

The demons ushered him on, suggesting extreme roughness and force, but Fenris reached for a balm on the nightstand. He did not ask himself when or why Hawke had put that there.

After some careful preparation he finally allowed himself to lie down behind Hawke and slip inside him.

The feeling was so overwhelming that Fenris had to remain still for a while before he trusted himself to be able to restrain himself. Hawke's head rolled back on the pillow when Fenris began to move inside of him. A moan rolled over his lips, followed by that mantra: "I can't. I can't."

As their arousal built up, Fenris increased his speed and ferocity. Inside his head the demons clamored for blood and pain until he could no longer stand it and sank his teeth into the palm of his left hand. The taste of his own blood drove away the memory of Hawke's wine-soaked taste, but the sharp pain filled Fenris with a mad sense of triumph. _I will not hurt him on your behalf._

"What are you doing?" Hawke pulled Fenris' hand away from his mouth to look at the damage he had caused. Already Fenris felt Hawke's healing magic reaching out, less focused  than normal due to the amount of consumed alcohol and his arousal, but attempting to mend the fresh wound nonetheless.

Fenris withdrew his hand and placed it on Hawke's hip, pressing down hard enough to make the stinging feeling highly unpleasant, while he kept moving inside Hawke.

"Ahh. I don't want to lose you."

_"It doesn't have to be that way."_

"Shh."

"Fenris..."

"I'm here."

"I can't."

"I'm yours."

If there were more words on Hawke's tongue, they were swallowed by the orgasm that coursed through him and made him shudder. Fenris' peak followed soon after. His seed had not even stopped flowing yet when the old darkness descended upon his mind.

When Fenris opened his eyes again, he found himself still securely in Hawke's embrace. If he had had flashbacks again, the memory of it had once more slipped from grasp.

Hawke smiled briefly. "There you are."

_"It doesn't have to be this way."_

Fenris nodded.

"Fenris..."

_"It doesn't have to be this way."_

"I know."

_I can't lose you._

Hawke closed his eyes, his face more relaxed. Fenris already felt sleep looming over him, ready to claim him, but he struggled against it and pushed himself up on one elbow.

_It doesn't have to be this way._

"Damian."

Hawke's eyes opened again.

"There is something I have to show you."


	24. Chapter 24

Hawke's reaction was not as lively as Fenris might have expected. "Huh? I think I saw it just five minutes ago."

Growling, Fenris shoved Hawke's shoulder to prevent his eyes from closing again. "This is not some sexual innuendo. I am serious. There is something you need to see, so get dressed."

Hawke groaned, but obediently rolled out of bed. A quick hand gesture and the candles in the room lit up, allowing him to find his robes. Fenris dressed as quickly as possible, hoping that continuous movement would help keep sleep at bay a while longer. He had little doubt that he longed more for the promise of a soft mattress than Hawke, but now that his decision had been made he did not want to waste more time.

He looked up when he had fastened the laces of his breeches, and saw Hawke had found his robes, but was making no attempt to get dressed. Instead he held them in front of his face and stared at them with furrowed brow.

Fenris waited another moment to see if Hawke would stop whatever he was doing and make haste before he spoke up. "What are you doing?"

"Did you ruin my clothes _again_?"

Fenris suppressed a sigh. "Just put them on."

He was rewarded with an accusatory glare. "These were new."

"I didn't like them anyway."

"But I did!"

Fenris moved toward the door. "Just put them on, will you? This is important."

"Fine. Fine." Muttering something about never having heard of a demon type that hated fashion and insisted on the destruction of clothes, Hawke finally pulled the torn robes over his head. With his first try he ended up with his head through one of the tears, leading to a string of drunk curses and a lot of - in Fenris' opinion - exaggerated arm waving. After another try Hawke managed to find the right hole for his head and put his robes on. Fenris had to admit that the robes could no longer be saved: two vertical tears now adorned Hawke's chest, offering more than a glimpse of the naked skin underneath.

_"Would skin tear just as easily?"_

_You're not going to find out._

Pretending there was nothing abnormal about Hawke's torn robes and that he was not picturing two red gashes across Hawke's chest now, Fenris opened the door. "Ready?"

A nod from Hawke and he left the bedroom. Hawke followed, albeit rather unsteadily.

Because neither of them had thought of bringing a light source, they had to make their way through the mansion in near-complete darkness. Again Fenris' markings were the only thing offering some degree of illumination. Fenris silently hoped he would be able to find the secret room without Elias to guide him. For a long time that was all he focused on, all his attention turned to which direction to go next, while Hawke stumbled a few steps behind him.

After bumping into things and nearly tripping at least ten times, Hawke had had enough of. "Fenrisss," he began in a voice still slow from the alcohol, "I am really... reallllly drunk now. Can't we reschedule the tour?"

"No." Fenris did not look over his shoulder, instead eyeing what little he could see of their environment. If he was not mistaken, they had reached the cellar and their destination was not far.

"Ugh." Hawke bumped against Fenris' back now that he was standing still, wondering whether the secret passage was here or farther in. "Why not?"

 _Because I might change my mind then._ Fenris turned left, with Hawke on his heels.

"Where are we even going?"

"It's better if you see it. I am not sure how to describe it."

"More secrets." Hawke sounded sour.

"Not a new one, actually," Fenris replied, halting in front of the old tapestry with the Chantry's sun embroidered on it. Hawke eyed the symbol with suspicion. "Are you trying to convert me?"

Fenris could not suppress a smirk. "Tempting, but no. Follow me."

"Follow you where? I swear I'm getting... What the..." Hawke fell silent when Fenris pushed the tapestry aside and stepped into the secret passage. Fenris could almost hear Hawke's curiosity break through his drunken haze. "What is this?"

"A little farther." Fenris walked through the narrow corridor, Hawke behind him, until he reached the seemingly solid wall.

How had Elias opened the way? When he saw that dead end, Fenris had assumed that Elias had lured him into a trap. Only after the wall had disappeared in front of him, he had realized something else was going on. But now Elias was not here, and Fenris had no idea what the slave had done to get the wall to move. He stared at the rows of identical stones, wondering what to do now.

Hawke's warm breath tickled Fenris' neck. "That's a nice wall, Fenris."

Fenris grumbled wordlessly, letting his eyes drift from stone to stone.

"Exactly the same as every other wall in the cellar, even though someone hid this one..."

"Shut up." He tried to recall as much as possible from the night that Elias had led him here. Fenris remembered the older elf standing with his back to him, staring at the wall like he was doing now. Elias had mumbled something to himself, words in Arcanum... Counting! He had been counting. And then he had touched one of the stones. Fenris stared at the wall with renewed determination. He did not recall that Elias had ducked to touch one of the stones, so the lower half could be discarded. A little uncertain, he stretched out a hand and let his fingers drift over the stones, pushing each one to see if something would happen.

"I feel honored that you deemed me worthy of seeing this beautiful wall. Deeply touched, I am. I am a changed man after witnessing this marvel. Nothing will ever be the same, now I..."

" _Hawke_."

"Ooh, last name. Why the disapproving tone, my dear? I am merely... expressing my eternal gratitude that you made me walk all this way just to see..."

An audible _click!_ when Fenris' hand pressed against one of the stones on his right at eye-level, followed by the low rumble of shifting stones abruptly silenced Hawke. The wall moved, then disappeared. Fenris stepped into the revealed chamber, more than a bit relieved that everything looked the same as last time and that he had not made a fool of himself leading Hawke to a dead end.

Meanwhile, Hawke tripped over the threshold and caught Fenris' arm to steady himself. A look of bewilderment on his face as he looked around, his eyes widening when he noticed the chains and the patterns on the floor. Just like the previous time, the magical orbs that hung on the walls began to glow and provided sufficient light to see. "I... this... this is..?" Hawke stuttered.

"The place where I had to undergo the ritual," Fenris said, a little hoarsely. "Or so I'm told."

Hawke's hold on his arm tightened. "Is it here?" he whispered urgently. "The information we need?"

Fenris felt his throat become dry at Hawke's excitement. "I don't know. I have not searched the place yet."

Hawke practically ran to the desk on their right and had to grab the edge of the table to come to a halt. With eager hands he touched everything that had been placed on the desk's surface, stopping around a metal ring Fenris had not spotted during his first visit. Curiosity drove Fenris closer to Hawke's side, though he had a sinking feeling of what it would be that Hawke was holding.

It was a silver collar, with runes which glowed subtly carved in the metal all around. Fenris' hand automatically went to his neck, as if he needed to be certain of its absence there. He remembered its presence from long ago. He had not always worn it - Danarius had appeared to favor him without - but when Danarius had had guests or visited someone, Fenris had had to wear the collar to provide an additional sense of security for those who feared that he - or Danarius - might decide to move against them.

Hawke seemed fascinated by it. He slowly turned the collar around in his hands to look at every rune. "What is it?" he asked, without his eyes leaving the object.

"My collar," Fenris replied, glad when he was able to look away from it. "It suppressed the abilities the markings give me. I was unable to phase when I wore it."

"I've never seen these runes before. They don't look like anything the merchants in Kirkwall sold. Not even the enchanters from the Gallows had magical items that came close to this."

"I possess no knowledge of runes. I do not know if Danarius designed everything himself or that they are more or less common knowledge in Tevinter. All I know is that they affected my abilities."

Hawke lowered the collar and looked at the few documents that were now scattered across the desk. He briefly touched a few sheets of parchment. He still did not look at Fenris when he spoke. "Why did you keep this from me? How long have you known about this?"

"No more than a few days," Fenris hastened to say. "I have no memory of this place, but Elias brought me here and told me this is where Danarius performed the ritual."

"Elias?!" Now Hawke did look up. "That son of a bitch! And all this time he has been sitting in the library with me, pretending to help! Does everybody take me for a fool? What is it that makes people continuously do things like this behind my back?"

"Elias might have had his reasons, Damian..."

Hawke turned away from the desk, staring intently at Fenris. The recent discovery seemed to have sobered him up quite a bit. "And what might those be, Fenris? Enlighten me. After all you've failed to mention why _you_ chose not to show me this earlier as well. What good reasons might you have for that?"

"Whatever Danarius has hidden here," Fenris gestured at the room, "the magisters cannot have it. You can't hand anything to Claudius."

Hawke's fingers closed around the wrist of the hand Fenris had waved around. "I am no magister," he hissed. "I am not Claudius. Stop holding their actions against me!" Abruptly he released Fenris and let his arm fall back to his side. "What made you change your mind?"

Fenris ran a hand through his hair. "I... I'm not sure. You, I think."

Hawke snorted and looked at the desk again. "How flattering."

"The magisters can't know of this," Fenris insisted. "Do you understand that?"

A shrug from Hawke. "Fine."

"That means you can't show Feynriel either."

"I need Feynriel's help," Hawke objected. "From what I can see, everything is written in Arcanum. I can't read this."

"Feynriel is Claudius' apprentice. He will inform him of everything you find."

Hawke's mouth formed a stubborn line. "I trust Feynriel."

"Like you trusted Elias?" _Or me?_

To that Hawke had no answer. Eventually he turned around and began to walk toward the exit. "We'll look at it tomorrow. Now I need to sleep. The room is moving before my eyes."

Fenris bit his lip. He hoped Hawke's lack of cooperativeness could be blamed on the alcohol and that he would prove more reasonable tomorrow. Yet Fenris did not want to wait till tomorrow for his certainty. He had to know now that he had not made a mistake by bringing Hawke here. "You won't share any of this with Claudius? Or Feynriel?"

"Yes, yes." Hawke did not even look over his shoulder as he stumbled into the secret passage.

"Promise me," Fenris called out to Hawke's back, but Hawke was already gone and gave no reply.

Again Fenris ran a nervous hand through his messy hair, not certain what he had expected of this. Of course Hawke would not simply neglect the fact that Fenris had not informed him immediately of this discovery. But would Hawke reward Fenris' distrust with unwillingness to do as he asked? _No_ , he thought. Hawke knew as well as Fenris what the magisters were capable of. Hawke understood the magisters should not be given information that allowed them to forge more deadly weapons, especially if those weapons were slaves. He had to understand.

A curse fled from Fenris' lips and bounced off the cold walls. Barely an hour ago he had felt like all problems with Hawke had been resolved. They had been so wonderfully close again, leaving so many of their differences behind to close the distance between them. Now he was filled with bitter doubts again. What was it that had pushed him to this decision? Had it come from himself, from his desire to live another day, live another life with Hawke? Was it Hawke who had forced this change of mind in him, by showing such raw desperation and vulnerability at the thought of losing Fenris? Or was it something else, something darker, that did not wish to lose its amusing mortal toy just yet? Whatever the true cause was, Fenris knew it had transpired in a moment of weakness. He had sworn not to continue the search for the secret of the ritual, but now he had broken that promise for his own, selfish interests. By choosing to try to change his own fate, had he condemned that of countless others?

A glimmer in the corner of Fenris' eye caught his attention. His collar, shining like jewelry. Proud symbol of his slavery. The urge to break the ring and destroy the cursed thing was strong, but his disgust of having to touch it won in the end. Fenris turned on his heels and left the room with its secrets behind.

Soon he caught up with Hawke, who had some difficulty finding the way back from here. They did not speak, but during their walk Hawke's hand went to Fenris', letting healing magic pour out to mend the bite mark Fenris had left on the palm himself. The markings hummed in appreciation of the magic's presence, and despite his concerns, Fenris felt comforted by it. 

* * *

 

The following day Hawke was, as usual, already gone from their bed by the time Fenris woke up. Fenris dressed hastily, nervous to find out if Hawke had stayed true to his word and had not shown the ritual chamber to Feynriel. Or Claudius.

_"His word? He never made a promise."_

_He said he would not tell Claudius or Feynriel._

Nevertheless Fenris felt his nervousness increase with every step as he rushed through the mansion's halls. He made a detour to the library first so he would not go all the way to the cellars for nothing.

The library was empty. No Feyrniel, no Elias, and no Hawke. With a tightening stomach Fenris hurried on. Slaves bowed for him as he passed, but he hardly noticed them. He cursed the Fade for keeping him trapped for so long every night and at the same time prayed - a first in a very long time - that Hawke had not decided to ignore Fenris' plea.

When he finally pushed the old tapestry aside, he immediately saw that the wall at the end of the passage was gone. Fenris sucked in his breath and further increased his speed. He practically burst into the room, his eyes flicking from one side to the other, before he abruptly relaxed. Hawke was alone.

"Where is Feynriel?"

Hawke looked up. "I sent him back. I told him I had a headache." He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. "Which was not a lie."

The relief left Fenris almost speechless. He had been so certain Hawke had betrayed him while he rushed over here, and now it turned out Hawke had sent Feynriel away. Had he really become so distrustful that he even doubted Hawke's honesty? Embarrassed by the suspicion he had harbored, Fenris decided to avoid the subject. "Can you not heal your headache with magic?"

Hawke grimaced. "If Father knew of a spell that instantly cures a hangover, he sure never told me. I have never come across anything  myself either. You'd think something like that is of the highest priority... Perhaps the people in Tevinter know of something?"

"You would ask Claudius to heal your hangover?" Fenris' voice quivered with amusement.

Hawke laughed briefly, then flinched from the sound he had just made. "Probably not."

Fenris came a bit closer, glancing at the parchment Hawke had been bent over. "Any progress?"

"No," Hawke sighed. "I don't understand a flying nug of it. Feynriel taught me the word for 'lyrium', and that does seem to be mentioned quite a lot, but other than that... I haven't got a clue."

Fenris wanted to say something in return, but before he could open his mouth, another voice cut him off.

"Dominus." Elias appeared next to Fenris.

"What is it?" Hawke's voice betrayed a very limited patience with the slave.

"You have a visitor."

Hawke looked irritated. "Who is it?"

"She said her name is Petra."

Hawke glanced at Fenris, who just shrugged. The name was unfamiliar to him. "I don't know her," Hawke said. "Send her away."

"She said it was urgent."

Sighing heavily, Hawke got up. "When isn't it? Fine. I'll go see her."

Fenris wanted to follow him, but Elias' eyes on him made him pause.

"So you showed him," Elias said slowly.

Not believing such a statement needed an answer, Fenris remained silent.

Elias observed him a little longer, then turned away. "Your selfishness is predictable."

Not wishing to argue about this, Fenris went after Hawke to see what Petra the visitor wanted.

* * *

A woman in her late twenties with bright red hair waited near the front door. The staff she carried with her made it clear that she was a mage, but her robes did not match Tevinter fashion. When Hawke approached her, she nervously wrung her hands before she placed them behind her back. "Are you Hawke?" she asked. "The Champion of Kirkwall?" Her accent was Fereldan.

"I am. And who might you be?"

"My name is Petra. Uhm... we don't know each other. I come from the Circle in Ferelden."

Hawke rubbed his chin. "Then you're a long way from home."

She briefly looked away. "The Circle tower has fallen. I had no choice but to flee to the Tevinter Imperium."

"And what is it you want from me?"

"I'm not just here for myself," the red-headed woman quickly said. "I come on behalf of all refugees who hoped to build a new life in Tevinter, without templars always watching us."

"And now you are surprised the magisters did not welcome you with open arms? That's a story I've heard before. Does Solivitus think that a new, innocent face will convince me when he failed? I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I want nothing to do with your revolutions."

"Sol's dead." Petra's voice cut sharply through the hall's air.

Hawke's hand left his chin. "Dead?" he repeated.

Petra's face fell. "A week ago he suddenly went mad in the middle of the night. He started to complain about having terrible nightmares a while before that, and that night he awoke screaming and set everything around him on fire. He was already dead before most of us realized what was happening. Three others died with him."

"I..." Hawke cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to hear that, but..."

The woman suddenly jumped forward and got a hold of his arm. "We need your help," she hissed. "Sol is not the only one who has suddenly gone mad. We've lost almost half our people by strange accidents like that. Many are haunted by awful dreams."

Hawke pried her pale, slender fingers loose one by one. "As terrible as that may be," he said, "I don't see how I can be of use. I don't know what could cause dreams like that, or how to stop it."

Petra looked up at him with wide eyes. "Our new leader says it's the dreamers."

"Dreamers?" Fenris stepped forward. "You speak of somniari?" Next to him, Hawke had paled considerably.

Petra nodded. "I had never heard of such a thing, but apparently there are powerful mages who can shape the Fade around them at will, and also enter the domain of other people's dreams. Our leader believes that's what they do to us. They twist our dreams to drive us to insanity."

"Who is this leader?" Hawke inquired. "Is he the one who sent you to me as well?"

"He says he was a friend of yours, and that you sympathize with our cause. He believes you will help us when you realize how dire the situation is."

Hawke raised his eyebrows at the woman. "Some claims from somebody I've never met in my entire life. I don't know any Circle mages and I definitely have no friends in Tevinter. And again, if your "cause" is to overthrow the magisters, then you are sorely mistaken if you believe that I sympathize with that. I defended one Circle against the Right of Annulment. That does not make me a freedom fighter. I did _not_ come to Tevinter for more blood and death. I am here to prevent one death, and that is the only one I care about. I'm sure your delusional leader will find his help somewhere else."

Petra was trembling with fury and helplessness. "But... you have to help us. The magisters have no _right_ to treat us this way."

Hawke made a dismissive gesture. "They have as much right as the templars who used to lock you up. I don't _have_ to do anything; you don't need me anyway."

"We do need you," Petra insisted. "Don't you realize how important you have become for everyone who's escaped the Circle? You... you're practically a symbol. The proof we can fight for our freedom and win. If you help us, nobody would doubt we can win again."

"Hmpf," Hawke snorted mockingly. "If you can fight and win, that is the proof you don't need me. Sorry, I'm not available as a mascot at the moment. I wish you good luck finding someone else. Now, if you'll excuse me, my hangover is killing me."

As a sign of submission, Petra hung her head. "I had always pictured you as a more compassionate person," she mumbled before she turned around and left.

Hawke showed no sign of regret while the door closed behind the young woman. With a cranky scowl he walked away to return to the ritual chamber. Fenris remained in the hall when Hawke had left, his mind racing. The debate between Petra and Hawke had given him an idea, shown him an opportunity. An insane idea, a most unlikely opportunity, but a promising one nonetheless. He had always assumed that slaves would be his only allies, the only ones who could be rallied against the magisters. But centuries of failed rebellions had shown that such uprisings did not hold much potential. _There is strength in numbers_. If the apostates would support the rebelling slaves... they might stand a chance.

He opened the door and hastened after the young woman. The female mage had not made it very far yet. "Wait!"

She turned around and waited for him to catch up with her. She had not paid much attention to him inside while she was arguing with Hawke. Only now did she study him with a certain degree of curiosity.

"What is your purpose?" Fenris asked her. "Your cause?"

Her eyes glinted with determination. "To see the magisters fall."

Fenris stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. "Then I know where you can find the allies you need."

Petra looked at him intently. "I'm listening."

"I wish to speak to your leader. I want to see if he is who claims to be first before I decide to trust you. Is he truly an acquaintance of Hawke?"

"I believe he speaks the truth. He says he was in Kirkwall when the Champion stood up against the Knight-Commanders' tyranny."

Fenris frowned as he considered her words. A mage from the Gallows then? A friend of Sol perhaps. "Can I meet him?"

She hesitated. "He said he wanted to see Hawke."

"You heard Hawke. He is not coming."

She sighed. "You're right. Alright. I'll talk to him. Come to the harbor before midnight, three days from now."


	25. Chapter 25

From then on Hawke spent most of his time in the ritual chamber, bowing over documents which had presumably been written by Danarius. So far he stayed true to his word and kept sending Feynriel away with excuses. However, with all the texts having been written in Arcanum, Hawke was forced to ask for Elias' help again with the translation. Although he was clearly not happy to rely on the slave anymore, he was left with little choice. To not raise Hawke's suspicions, Fenris often descended into the cellars to stare at a dusty piece of parchment as well, but he always left as quickly as he could and failed to make much progress. Somehow, being in that room upset him even more than being in any other part of the mansion - Danarius' old bedroom excepted.

Soon enough the day of his meeting with the apostate mages' leader arrived. Fenris was already regretting that he had agreed to meet just before midnight. Not only did his markings attract attention in the dark by randomly lighting up, it had also become nearly impossible to stay awake that long. His energy was depleting faster each day. That, and Hawke was watching him like a... well, like a hawk. Fenris knew very well that another nightly stroll through Minrathous would not escape Hawke's attention and would not be appreciated. Another argument thus seemed inevitable. But perhaps it would finally make Hawke realize that this was important to Fenris, and that he could not remain in Tevinter and do nothing while the magisters continued to abuse their slaves. He had shown Hawke the ritual chamber. That should be enough to let Hawke know that he had not given up. Not completely. It would have to do. If the price for the freedom of numerous slaves was another disagreement and heated exchange with Hawke, Fenris was willing to pay it.

* * *

During the night of Fenris' meeting with the resistance's leader, Fenris stayed in the ritual chamber with Hawke and Elias as long as he could stand. Hawke's initial excitement about this grand discovery had waned, now that they struggled to decipher the meaning of Danarius' documentation. Even when translated to the common tongue, the words made little sense to them. The ritual seemed to be of an advanced level of magic that far surpassed Hawke's knowledge.

Approximately two hours before midnight Fenris got out of his chair. "I'm going to bed."

Hawke looked up and smiled briefly before turning back to his documents. "Okay, sleep well."

Fenris nodded and rubbed one of his arms. The markings burned and itched. He could scarcely believe that it would be this easy. But then again, what was Hawke supposed to do? Escort him to bed? Of course Hawke would notice his absence after an hour or so, but then he would already be gone. Fenris suppressed the sting of guilt as he walked through the hidden passage. It hurt to have to betray Hawke's trust again, but as long as Hawke refused to get involved, Fenris saw no other way. They each had the right to make their own choice. That was what it meant to be free.

It was cold outside. Fenris' breath fogged as soon as it left his mouth. He glanced around, scanned his surroundings, to make sure Hawke or a magister had not sent someone to shadow him. Everything looked quiet and peaceful. Fenris embraced the cold, grasping everything that helped to stay awake, and started walking.

His pace was slow, every step a greater task than the previous. He hoped he would be alert enough for his planned meeting. If the mages were less honorable in their intentions than they had pretended, he might be in trouble. The itch of his markings became worse at that concerning thought. Was it not foolish of him to go to a secret meeting in the middle of the night all by himself? What if the mages had planned an ambush? It would not be the first time that a group of desperate outlaws had kidnapped someone close to Hawke in hopes of forcing his cooperation. Fenris wanted to hit himself for not considering this possibility before he had set foot outside to wander Minrathous' streets at night. His entire life and this entire city was proof of how mages could not be trusted, and yet here he was, about to try to reach an agreement with apostates, which all depended on their honesty and sincerity. If someone - probably Hawke - had told Fenris this years ago, he would have laughed at him.

Now, the demons were laughing.

Fenris guessed it was still an hour before midnight when he reached the harbor. He had no idea whom he was waiting for, and when that person would show up. Petra had told him to be here _before_ midnight, so he assumed the person he was supposed to meet would arrive before midnight as well. At least he hoped that would be the case. Waiting for another hour would likely be too much to ask. Already his legs felt weak and his mind was drifting, his eyes threatening to close.

He started pacing to stay active and keep his blood flowing. He wondered if Hawke had already discovered his absence, and how he would take it. Not well, undoubtedly. The night they had become intimate again had brought them closer, much closer than they had been in the past few months, but not everything could be solved so easily. The fact that Fenris was here said as much.

"You are easy to spot," said a voice coming from behind.

Fenris turned around and saw Petra standing a few steps away from him. He was almost too tired to care that she had managed to sneak up on him. "At the moment I am a burning beacon wherever I go," he replied. "I'm afraid there is nothing I can do to hide."

She nodded to indicate that she understood. "That is your problem?" she asked, staring at the glowing markings. "That is why you and the Champion came here?"

"That's none of your concern. Where is your leader?"

Petra gestured in the direction she had probably come from. "He is waiting. Follow me."

As they walked, the female mage observed Fenris from the corner of her eyes. "He spoke of having to save your life," she said after a while. "Is it really that serious? Are those... things killing you?"

She waited for a reply, but Fenris gave none.

_"The truth hurts, doesn't it?"_

_"Soon you'll be with us forever."_

_"How long have you managed to stay awake today? Six hours? Five?"_

_Seven. Perhaps eight._ That correction failed to reassure. Fenris was well aware of his condition and the steep decline his endurance suffered. If he was not worrying about it himself, the demons were always quick to remind him.

When it became clear to her that Fenris was unwilling to chat, Petra shrugged and silently led him through the streets. After perhaps ten minutes they reached one of Minrathous' current slums. Every now and then the magisters sent a detachment of guards to clear those clusters of poverty and drive away the homeless, but as soon as they had left, people began to return. They had nowhere else to go, even if they were not welcome and the magisters saw them as a stain on their otherwise perfect city.

Because Minrathous was a walled city there was not much space for slums, so the refugees and apostates had set up their tents on one of the older market squares - one of the primary reasons the magisters wanted to be rid of them. Due to the cold, everyone was staying in their tent. Fenris was grateful for the lack of staring eyes and gaping mouths.

The tent Petra guided him to did not differ in any way from those around it. If it was larger than the others, it was only by a fraction. Petra stuck her head through the opening. "He is here," she said. Then she turned to Fenris. "You can go in."

Fenris nodded and stepped inside, with fists clenched in anticipation, to meet the mages' illustrious leader. He was not sure what or whom he had expected, but it certainly was not the familiar face that looked up at him when he entered the tent. At the same time it had been so obvious that Fenris was cursing himself for not realizing it sooner. Surprise and anger about having been duped froze him on his spot, leaving him only able to stare.

"I was expecting Hawke." Anders frowned and got up from the crate he had been sitting on. He looked the same as he had on their final day in Kirkwall. He still wore the robes with the black feathers, despite the filth that now clung to them. Only the fanaticism in his eyes seemed to have grown stronger. They burned with the unshakeable belief that he was doing the right thing. 

Fenris had to swallow heavily before he managed to speak. "He is not coming. Did the woman not tell you that?"

"She did, but I was still not expecting _you_." Anders' eyes went over the active markings on Fenris' arms. "Are you here to try to kill me again?"

When a worried Hawke had confessed to Fenris that Anders had convinced him to distract the Grand Cleric, Fenris had gone to Anders' clinic to demand an explanation. In an attempt to crush the threat the abomination posed, Fenris had tried to kill the abomination when he refused to cooperate. Unfortunately the demon that the mage harbored within himself had taken over and surprised Fenris, forcing him to flee the clinic and wait for events to unfold. A few days later the Chantry had exploded. Neither had forgotten their encounter and their past differences.

Fenris shook his head, more or less hoping that the demons had conjured up Anders to torment him. "You." Breaking free from the initial surprise, he took a step forward. "What are you doing here?"

"I go where my fellow mages have need of me," Anders replied with a smile.

"And I suppose it's pure coincidence that Hawke is here as well, and that you are trying to use him again for your cause."

"Many mages who wish to be free have fled to Tevinter."

"What about Hawke?"

"He is important. He is the free mage who saved Kirkwall from the Qunari, saved the Circle of Kirkwall from the Right of Annulment, and I understand he has also single-handedly defeated a magister in a duel."

 _He had help._ Fenris could still clearly picture the slave with her arm cut open from wrist to elbow to fuel magister Gaius' blood magic. He vividly recalled his hands around her head and the sound her neck had made when he snapped it. He asked himself how much her death had contributed to his determination to take action against the ways of the magisters, but he had no definitive answer. She was one of the many, but he would never forget her pleading eyes on him.

Meanwhile, Anders prattled on. "Hawke has become the ultimate symbol for mages' freedom. Somehow he is more inspiring than I could ever be. Everyone here knows his name, knows of his deeds. He has a responsibility towards those who have not been so lucky to escape the Circle system their entire life."

 _Hello, Justice._ "You can't drag Hawke into a war with the magisters."

_"Oh, so only you can?"_

_"What have you been doing then?"_

The abomination eyed him critically. "You do realize I could keep you here as leverage?"

 _What a surprise. Always the same ideas that spring from a treacherous mage's mind._ Sweat rolled down the back of Fenris' neck. Despite his uneasiness, he managed to keep his voice flat. "Have you forgotten what Hawke did with the last people who tried that?"

Anders' forehead wrinkled slightly. "Perhaps he will be more willing when he deals with an old friend."

A dry chuckle escaped Fenris. "You're even madder than I thought if you believe that Hawke still considers you a friend. Your role in Carver's survival is the only reason you yet live."

Anders' face saddened. "In another life, things could have been different between us. It is unfortunate... but I suppose you're right."

"Stay away from Hawke. Leave him out of this. I do not mean this as a threat, but as a warning."

The abomination's eyes studied Fenris' face, measuring the sincerity of his words. Fenris thought he saw a spark of blue in the amber, but it was so brief that he was not certain if he had really seen it. "Is that why you have come here, then?" Anders asked. "To warn me?"

Fenris hesitated. He was not certain if he should entrust his ideas to the abomination. Anders was truly obsessed by his fight for the freedom of mages. Anything else would likely be overshadowed by this. Was it worth it to involve the lives of slaves if they would only be seen as a useful tool? Fenris would never put his own fate in the hands of a possessed mage, so how could he place that of others there? On the other hand, Anders' devotion might be exactly what a rebellion against the magisters' rule needed, and if Fenris could convince him of the justness of freeing slaves, the spirit - or demon - might expand this devotion to include that goal. A better chance than this was unlikely to occur again soon. The Imperium's slavery could continue for generations if they did not risk this.

"No." The word came with a sigh. "That's not why I came. I... have a proposition."

"I'm listening." Curiosity and suspicion warred for the upper hand on Anders' face.

"If you want to bring down the magisters, you need to rally the slaves."

"That's not exactly a proposition."

Fenris shrugged. "Advice then. Call it what you want. There are thousands of slaves in Minrathous alone. If you can unite your mages with them and rise up as one, you _may_ stand a chance."

Anders scratched his head through his blond hair, which was still partially tied back in a sloppy ponytail. "Interesting," he mumbled. He took two steps to the left, turned to the right, then stopped in the middle of the tent again. "It would be just to free the slaves," he mused. "They, too, must suffer under the magisters' reign. Do you think they'll side with us?"

"You will have to gain their trust, but I am certain that once you do, many slaves will be willing to stand with you."

"Hmm. It is worth considering, although I'm afraid that our own numbers are dwindling quickly. At this rate we will soon be unable to oppose the force of the magisters."

Fenris now remembered what Petra had said about their leader's suspicions about the dreamers. "You think the mages are being driven insane by somniari? Can blood magic not influence their dreams as well?"

Anders nodded. "Normally, yes, but we have the Litany or Adralla, which should protect against blood magic. The dreams are so powerful that the Litany is unable to stop them, however. Justice also senses a powerful disturbance in the Fade during the nights of the attacks. That's why I think this is not just blood magic at work. I don't know how many magisters have the powers of a dreamer, but there have to be at least one or two."

 _So Feynriel has not remained as innocent as Hawke would believe._ "The somniari Hawke saved in Kirkwall is here," Fenris told him. "Feynriel. I do not know which magisters could be dreamers, but Feynriel is the apprentice of magister Claudius, so he might be one as well."

"Probably two then. I was afraid of this. Justice protects me while I sleep, but the others are not so lucky. When I arrived here, they were about to give up and flee. I managed to give them hope again, but as long as the attacks continue..." Anders smiled thinly. "The magisters are no easy opponents."

Fenris thought of Claudius' dark eyes and smooth smile. _They definitely are not._

"You should probably get back," Anders told him. "Give Hawke my regards." He smiled again, more warmly this time. "Tell him I will not waste the second chance he has given me." 

* * *

Fenris had enough to think about during his journey back to the mansion. Even if Hawke was unhappy about his secret meeting, he would likely be interested in hearing that Anders was in the city, and that Feynriel was involved in the assaults on the minds of the apostates. Fenris hoped he had done the right thing to share his idea with Anders, and that it would lead to something good. Should he wait and see how things would develop now? Or try something by himself again? But what?

He decided he was too tired to come up with a strategy for the future at the moment. All that counted now was returning to the estate so he could sleep.

He was exhausted by the time he finally arrived at his destination. Silently hoping that Hawke had already gone to bed, Fenris opened the door.

Immediately he saw that Hawke had not gone to bed, but was waiting for him. He stood in the hallway, his hair messy as if he had run his hands through it countless times. Hawke looked tired as he watched Fenris enter the mansion, but at the same time he stood calmly with his hands behind his back. "At least you keep coming back."

Fenris closed the door behind him. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I knew you would not approve."

"As if you give a damn about my approval."

"Damian..."

"I need Feynriel's help with the documents. I can't make any sense of them on my own."

Vehemently Fenris shook his head. "No. You know you can't do that. Feynriel cannot -"

Again Hawke interrupted him, as if he had not heard Fenris. "Claudius visited me tonight. After you had left."

A sinking feeling of unease descended upon Fenris. Hawke's reaction was nothing like he had expected. He had prepared himself for more anger, more disappointment, but Hawke appeared to be completely calm. Fenris almost believed the mage was drunk again, but he stood straight and his speech was clear. Whatever Claudius had done... fear screwed Fenris' throat shut. He did not dare to speak, did not dare to guess why Claudius had decided to come by this night. So he waited for Hawke to continue.

But Hawke did not seem in a hurry to enlighten Fenris. "Again I fell for it," he muttered instead. "I can't believe you can make such an idiot out of me. That everybody can... I thought that you would _stop_ , that you would _live_ , but you don't. You don't stop. You're... you're just obsessed with the idea of freeing all the slaves, of heroically leading some kind of grand rebellion."

"I am not -"

"You even want to sacrifice your life for it. For your _cause_. You remind me of Anders now. Completely consumed by your cause, just like he was."

Fenris took a few steps toward Hawke. "Do not compare me to that abomination!" Even though he had just talked to Anders and even reached some kind of agreement with him, Fenris did not like to be seen as even remotely similar to the possessed mage. After all, he had been fighting the demons' influence for months. He had not given in. He continued to resist. Surely that placed him above Anders! "I am not possessed. I am nothing like him!"

Hawke looked unimpressed and still oddly blank. "You have to stop. You're ruining everything."

Fenris came closer, until he was only two steps away from Hawke. "What did Claudius want, Damian? What did he do? Did he use magic on you?"

"Ha!" Hawke laughed joylessly, then shook his head. "No. He did not need to. The truth was sufficient."

"What truth?" Now he stood close to Hawke, Fenris saw that his blue eyes were clear. He could not discover confusion or haziness in them. No hint of blood magic or mind control. Somehow that frightened him even more. "You know you can't trust anything he says!"

Hawke's eyebrows drew closer to each other. "He had you followed, you fool. He told me you're conspiring with the apostates from the Circles that have fallen. You want to overthrow the magisters. Do you really think they will let you?" He did not wait for Fenris to answer. "I need you to stop, Fenris. Your life is worth enough as it is. You don't need a grand cause. I fell in love with a man, not a cause. But I know that you won't stop, that you can't stop. I thought you would, but you didn't, so... I will have to stop you."

Fenris backed away. Hawke had that look on his face he always had when he was about to do something stupid, was about to cross a line which would not let him retreat. He had seen it before Hawke had accepted the Arishok's duel, before he had stood against Meredith when she had invoked the Right of Annulment. Before he had kissed Fenris for the first time. But something told Fenris that Hawke had not just decided to kiss him.

Hawke moved his hands from behind his back. Something in his left hand reflected the light that came from the lyrium underneath Fenris' skin. Something round. "I'm sorry, Fenris."

Perhaps once there had been a time Fenris could have resisted the sleep spell, that his markings could have shielded him from the magic. But the markings no longer functioned as they should, and with the constant pull from the Fade it only took a little push to get him to lose consciousness.

* * *

 

When Fenris woke up, he did not immediately recall what had happened. He became aware of the comfort of a soft mattress and pillow, of warm sheets covering him. Nothing extraordinary about that. Blaming the nagging feeling deep inside him on a bad dream, he turned on his side.

Something clanked when he moved.

The left part of the mattress shifted, veered up as if somebody had been sitting there. Fenris opened his eyes and shielded them against the light. He had slept through a large part of the day again. The nagging feeling grew stronger, swelled inside him.

Still shielding his eyes with one hand, Fenris pushed himself up. Again he heard a metallic sound.

He had talked - or argued - with Hawke. Fenris squinted at the silhouette on his left. "Damian?"

He sat upright, and again heard something rattle.

He remembered Hawke's last words: _"I'm sorry, Fenris."_

There was something around his neck. A weight that did not belong there.

The nagging feeling blew up into panic. Fenris' hand shot from his eyes to his neck. _A collar._

The markings flared, feeding on Fenris' arousal. Metal reflecting the lyrium's light had been in Hawke's hand. _My collar._

"You left me no choice."

Fenris looked up. He could now recognize Hawke in the silhouette next to the bed. He jumped from the bed, reaching for Hawke, but the other man stepped aside and the chain yanked Fenris back. "Don't. You'll hurt yourself." Hawke said, nervously wringing his hands.

Although the chain was quite long, it was not enough to let Fenris reach past the foot of the bed. He fell back on the bed, gasping for air after the force of his jump had pulled the collar against his windpipe. He struggled against the wild panic that threatened to overcome him now he was chained again. This should not be allowed to happen! He was free, not a slave! He should not have to wear a collar against his will! "Damian..."

"You were endangering everything."

Fenris' fingers wrapped around the collar. He pulled as hard as he could, but the only result was that he was now hurting the back of his neck rather than his throat. When it became clear that the metal would not budge, Fenris looked at Hawke again. "Release me," he rasped.

Hawke just shook his head. In his clear blue eyes Fenris saw something he had seen before, but only now recognized it for what it was. He had always thought Hawke was balancing on the treacherous edge of desperation, but his eyes revealed that he had plummeted over that edge into madness.

With one last pained look at Fenris, Hawke turned around and walked to the door. "Damian!" Fenris yanked at the chain again and trashed on the bed until he fell on the ground. "Hawke!!! HAWKE!!!"

In front of the door Hawke looked over his shoulder. "I _will_ save you, Fenris," he said. "Whatever it takes."

And with that Hawke walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.


	26. Chapter 26

As soon as he had closed the door behind him, Damian Hawke leaned against it and slid to the floor with shaking knees. How he had mustered the strength to walk out of that bedroom he did not know. Through the door he could hear Fenris rage and fight with his chains. The odd bubble of calm that had enveloped him from the moment he had made his decision popped, and he buried his face in his hands. Tears began streaming down his cheeks as sobs shook his body until it hurt.

_I actually did it. I can't believe I did it._

He had to do it. There had been no other choice. Fenris was not well and had clearly lost all reason. His mind was no longer truly his own. Hawke had seen the look of disorientation on Fenris' face become more frequent, as if he momentarily did not recall who and where he was. He had seen the haunted look in his lover's eyes when the demons whispered in his mind, had heard him mutter to himself when he thought Hawke could not hear him. That insane quest to free every slave had to be just another demon's ploy to wreak havoc and lead Fenris to his doom. He had had to stop it, before it was too late. It was the only right thing to do. When Fenris was himself again, he would see that too...

Hawke made a choked noise. He was an idiot for even daring to hope that Fenris would ever forgive him this! He knew very well there was no turning back. There should be no doubt that he had just destroyed everything that had ever existed between them. He had realized that when he had made his decision, and he would accept the consequences. It was worth it. Better that Fenris lived on to hate him for every day of the rest of his life than that he would be dead. Better to have to face the elf's contempt for him than to have to hold another corpse in his arms, to have to see another pair of lifeless eyes emptily staring up at him. He could not allow that his own selfishness would cost Fenris his life. He had already failed so many times, and every failure had the face of someone he had loved. If he had not enjoyed silly tricks as setting things on fire with his magic so much and had focused on learning the art of healing instead, he might have been able to save Father from the disease which struck him so suddenly. And if he could have been bothered to set that fucking ogre on fire before it snapped his little sister in half and squashed her skull like a ripe melon instead of just staring at it, paralyzed with fear of the monster, Bethany would still be alive. Carver could have lived the life he wanted, start a family, if Damian had not been so tired of the constant rivalry between them and had allowed him to accompany him in the Deep Roads in hopes of mending their relationship. Because he had ignored Mother's pleas, Carver had to spend the rest of his life fighting those horrendous darkspawn. Who knew, he might be dead already as well, cut down by those tainted creatures. And Mother... oh, Mother. He could still rarely close his eyes without seeing that reanimated corpse that wore Mother's face, dressed up like a doll. All his fault. He had known of Quentin's murders, but in his naivety and arrogance he had never considered the possibility that his mother could be the next victim. She had told him of her suitor, and instead of trying to learn more, finding out what kind of man was courting her, he had been annoyed that she wanted to let someone else take Father's place. Distracted by his own heartache after Fenris had walked out on him, he had not wanted to think of it and had never brought the subject up. And Mother had died because of it. He had been too late; every time he had been too late. What use was his magic if he could not save the people he cared about?

This time Damian would not wait and hope for the best. If he had not intervened, the magisters would have killed Fenris before the markings could. Claudius had been very clear. _"I have convinced them to withhold judgment until I have spoken to you, my friend, but I fear that if we take notice of one other activity that threatens the peace of our city, my colleagues will demand action and I won't be able to persuade them again. We can't ignore treason."_

Hawke did not have to be familiar with the ways of Tevinter to understand how the magisters would deal with traitors. He could not even blame them for it. What country would not publicly execute traitors?

No, this time Damian would not let his pathetic weaknesses get in the way. He would not fail again. He could not. Fenris could not die. Whenever he tried to think of that possibility, made an attempt to imagine what it would be like, he could not breathe, could not think. When he imagined life without Fenris, all he saw was big, black, gaping emptiness. There would be nothing left, it was as simple as that. Hawke doubted that his heart would continue to beat in his chest if Fenris died. Why would it?

He had done the right thing. The only thing he could have done. He knew that. Damian only hoped that he had not forced Fenris over the edge and into the arms of possession. By now he suspected that the markings had not truly created a tear in the Veil. Fenris would not have been able to resist for such a long time if they had. Instead, the unstable lyrium seemed to weaken the Veil significantly. Not that that was a good thing, but it was still better than what Damian initially had feared. Hopefully Fenris would continue to hold on. Hawke had done what he could to make sure Fenris would be comfortable. The chain that was attached to the collar and the wall was long enough to allow Fenris to stand next to the bed and walk around a bit. It was not much, but at least Fenris was not forced to lie on his back all the time. There was a jug with fresh water on the nightstand, and a chamber pot within reach.

In the bedroom, something shattered.

 _I guess I need to find less fragile versions._ Hawke tried to laugh through his tears, but only ended up sobbing harder. It was not funny. This was not funny at all. _I hope he won't hurt himself._

He was tempted to go back in and cast another sleeping spell, but feared that it would strain Fenris' body too much. It was obvious that waking up had become an immense struggle for the elf, and Hawke did not want to risk anything that would further decrease his strength if it was not absolutely necessary.

"Dominus?"

Startled, Damian looked up. One of the slave girls stood in front of him, looking concerned - though it was not clear if it was because she was worried about Hawke's current emotional state or because she had addressed her master without permission. Embarrassed that she had found him crying on the floor, Hawke scrambled to his feet. He hastily tried to dry his tears and wiped his nose with one of his sleeves, before realizing how that must look. "Y-yes?"

"Are... is everything alright?"

Hawke did not know if he had to shake his head, nod, or shrug, so he stood still. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. Thanks." _Man up, will you?_ he silently said to himself. _No weakness, remember? There's still a lot to do_.

He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. The presence of the slave had given him an idea. "I have things to do, so I need you to watch Fenris for me. Give him everything he asks for, make sure he is comfortable. But don't release him. Well, you can't, because I used magic to attach the chains - you're not a mage, are you?"

The girl's round, elven eyes grew even wider when she looked at the door. The sounds coming from the bedroom would make you believe that a wild animal had been locked up in there. After several heartbeats she remembered that her master had asked her something and she looked up at Hawke. "No, dominus," she whispered. "I am not a mage."

"Good. That's settled then. I will send someone else to help you." _He won't hurt the slaves. I hope._ "Bring him some food in a few hours if he hasn't asked for it by then. If you run into any trouble, come see me."

The slave nodded, not able to defy her orders despite her fear. Damian felt a little sorry for her, but that Fenris was taken care of while Hawke was occupied was more important. Besides, if Fenris left her alone, it would soon be clear that she did not have to be afraid of him. He tried to smile approvingly, but suspected that his face twisted the attempt into a frightening grimace instead. Then he quickly walked away. Feynriel could arrive at any moment. Hawke had already sent him a message while he waited for Fenris to wake up. It was simply impossible to grasp the meaning of what Danarius had written down without Feynriel's help. Hawke had never had to learn another language before, and he struggled with Arcanum's complexity. In addition, his magical education consisted of the necessities Father had taught him, the knowledge written in the few illegal books he had acquired in Kirkwall over the years, and a lot of intuition. He could not hope to understand the complex experiments of a magister who had spent his entire life improving his magical abilities and had had access to knowledge Tevinter had gathered over centuries. Intuition and guessing was not going to cut it here, not with Fenris' life at stake.

Fully determined again to do what was necessary, Hawke rubbed his cheeks to dry the last remains of his tears. He made a face when his fingers went through his wet beard. He had not shaven in a week, and it showed. _Maybe I should clean myself up before I meet Feynriel. I must look awful._

 He had barely slept tonight. All he had been able to do was picture how Fenris would react when he found out that he was chained. Damian had tried to tell himself that it could only be better than the scenarios he was imagining, but Fenris' actual reaction had ended up matching Hawke's worst expectations pretty well.

_It still had to be done. Everything's preferable to death._


	27. Chapter 27

Damian decided to take the time to freshen up and shave his beard before he went to greet Feynriel. He should at least appear confident. Even if Fenris' view on the people of the Imperium was overly cynical, something inside Damian Hawke told him that it was unwise to have others here know you had been a weeping wreck barely an hour ago.

On his way to the hall he halted after having walked past a slave who was busy cleaning the floor. Hawke had almost not noticed her. Funny how slaves tended to fade into the background until you were not aware of their presence unless you paid attention. It was almost like they held the secret to invisibility. Elias had more than once managed to make Damian jump by suddenly speaking up behind him without knowing the slave had been in the room.

 _That old elf is more frightening than Claudius._ He turned around and walked back to the slave. Standing behind her, Hawke realized that he did not know her name, just as he had not known the name of the girl who had found him sitting on the floor, leaning against the bedroom door. These people lived in the same house as he did, and yet he had no idea how many of them there even were. Hawke briefly wondered whether he should feel ashamed about that, and if Fenris would see it as more proof of him not caring about slavery and slaves. But then again, he had never seen Fenris interact with the slaves of this house either. If anything, Fenris had seemed to actively avoid them. Hawke did not know why. He had expected that Fenris would find some solace in meeting old friends, people who had lived a life similar to his, with whom he shared the past that continued to weigh down on him, but Damian had never seen Fenris speak with them and there had been an odd tension between Fenris and Elias from the moment of their arrival. So much of Fenris and his past remained a mystery, despite Hawke's efforts to get Fenris to talk about it. Damian had accepted a long time ago that he would never know every part of Fenris, that there would always be a few things which remained hidden, things Fenris simply could not share. Things Damian was extremely curious about, but could do nothing about but accept his ignorance.

 _As long as I solve the mystery of his markings. That is the most important now._   Hawke looked down at the back of the slave's head. Her fair hair was tied back into a braid, leaving her pointy ears exposed. Because "hey there" seemed rather unfriendly, Damian eventually decided to alert her by clearing his throat.

Upon hearing the sound she quickly got to her feet and bowed. "Yes, Master?"

"I need you to go to the bedroom we use to help take care of Fenris," Hawke told her. "One of your..." What was he supposed to call the other slave? Friend? Colleague? Fellow slave? So far Damian had mostly deferred from giving orders, except for the search of documentation on the ritual. The slaves seemed to run the household without any need of interference from him. They cooked, they cleaned, they purchased the goods they needed and stayed out of the way. Like Bodahn had, though Bodahn had been less quiet and timid. Less... invisible.

How would the old dwarf be doing now? Had he indeed gone to Orlais to secure Sandal's future? Were Varric and Merrill still looking for them? Or had they each picked up their own life again, no longer interested in Kirkwall and its former Champion?

When he saw the slave patiently staring up at him, Damian realized he had fallen silent mid-sentence and had drifted from trying to come up with an appropriate word for the other slave who was already with Fenris, to musings about his former dwarven servant and two of the people he had once called his friends. Before they had started treating him like an idiot.

He sighed. _I guess that answers my question whether they are still looking._ Of course they had given up the search, if they had ever started it in the first place. Apparently losing his family had resulted in his friends distancing themselves from him along the way as well. It was probably the wisest thing to do. Who would want to be close to someone who caused the death of those dear to him? _Even my dog died..._

Judged by the look of concern which began to dawn on the slave's face he had crossed the barrier of the mild eccentricity that was allowed for a master to awkward silence. _Focus, Damian. Get it together._

Damian drew a deep breath and started over. "Right. Sorry, I got distracted for a moment. I was meaning to say that one of the other slaves is already with Fenris. I've already given her instructions, so she knows what you're supposed to do."

The slave nodded and bowed, relieved that she knew what to do now. "Yes, Master."

"Oh, one more thing," Hawke quickly added when she was about to walk away. "I need you to find a jug and a chamber pot that won't break easily for in the bedroom. So not anything that is made of porcelain, glass, crystal, or something like that. I don't care if it's wood or copper, as long as it's not fragile."

Another bow, another "Yes, Master", and the slave left to fulfill her duties. Hawke did not watch her walk away but immediately continued his way to finally greet Feynriel. _I still have Fenris. I have not lost everything. Not yet. So enough with the pettiness. Weakness is not allowed._  

* * *

And thus he plastered a smile on his face when he approached Feynriel, who had been waiting for him in the hall, while the memory of Fenris' widening eyes as he became aware of the collar around his neck weighed on his mind in silence.

"I'm sorry that you have come all the way here several times while I was not able to receive you," Hawke said as he clasped Feynriel's lower arm. "I really appreciate that you're still willing to help."

"It's no problem," Feynriel assured him. "I hope everything is well?"

"Fenris is not... feeling well," Hawke said while guiding Feynriel to the library. "He's taken to bed. That's why we were unavailable the past few days."

A frown drew Feynriel's brows closer to each other. "I'm very sorry to hear that. I hope we will be able to help him soon."

Damian's smile became more genuine. "I have high hopes for that. In your absence we found something." He entered the library and picked up the documents that lay ready on one of the desks. He had decided to keep the ritual chamber a secret for now. Who knew what it might be useful for in the future, and he could always reveal its existence later on if need be. Drawings of the runes and symbols that decorated the room's floor were also included in Danarius' documentation, so Damian suspected that everything they needed had been written down. Still smiling, he handed the pieces of parchment to Feynriel.

Feynriel's curiosity rapidly turned into excitement while he flicked through the pages. "This really looks like... Where did you find this? How? I thought we had turned this place upside down!"

"I'm not sure." Damian shrugged when Fenyriel looked questioningly at him. "I'm not the one who found it. I believe Elias found it in a room which had been searched by another slave. He gave it to Fenris. Considering Fenris' condition... it took him a while to inform me."

Feynriel nodded solemnly. "Unfortunately not all slaves are as devoted to their tasks as they should be. What a blessing that Elias decided to double-check!"

 _What would your Dalish mother think of such words?_ Damian quietly wondered before dismissing the thought as irrelevant. Feynriel's mother was Feynriel's business. She was undoubtedly just glad that her son was still alive. Damian could, however, imagine what someone else would think of Feynriel's ideas about the duties of slaves. It was easy to picture Fenris' disapproving frown upon hearing such words.

Damian swallowed, then blinked when he felt Feynriel's hand on his arm. "Hawke? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes. I'm just a little tired. Rough night." He waved Feynriel's concern away. "What were you saying?"

"I said that we should inform Claudius of this discovery. He'll want to see this and can determine whether it's genuine."

Fenris' imaginary frown deepened. "I..." Hawke scratched his chin. "I would prefer to keep this quiet for a while. So far Elias and I had little luck translating it. I mean we translated a few parts, but I still don't understand much of it. It's a kind of magic I have no knowledge of. Before I hand everything to Claudius, I would at least like to know for certain that it really is the secret of the lyrium ritual. If I just give it to him now, I have no guarantee that Claudius will help me cure Fenris. Nothing is stopping the magisters from kicking me out when they've got what they want."

"I see your point, although this makes it difficult for me as well." Feynriel looked apologetic. "Claudius is very interested in our progress and often inquires about it. I don't know if I'm comfortable lying to the man who serves as my tutor."

"I only ask you to stay quiet until we have fully translated the document to the common tongue, so we can be sure what we're dealing with. Then we also know that we won't waste Claudius' time with Danarius' diary or something like that." Damian managed to let a wry smile accompany those last words.

Sighing, Feynriel nodded. "Very well. I suppose there's not much harm in that."

"Thank you." That was sufficient to force Fenris' frown from Damians mind. "Let's get started then, shall we?" 

* * *

They worked for most of the day on the translation, although Damian had some difficulty staying focused. Several times he caught himself glancing at the door, hoping that Fenris would come in and offer to help them, before realizing that was not going to happen. And then he kept seeing Fenris accusatory glances, which were replaced by panic when the elf realized that he was really chained and would not be released. Damian's stomach repeatedly tied itself into knots over the course of the afternoon while both scenarios of hope and doom danced through his mind.

So when he heard the sound of bare feet on the floor, Hawke's first panicked thought was that Fenris had managed to break free and was now out for revenge. He had already hurriedly gotten out of his chair when he saw the slave standing in the doorway. It was the young woman who had found him earlier today outside of the bedroom. The slave he had ordered to take care of Fenris.

With rapidly beating heart Hawke walked up to the slave. "What is it?" he hissed so Feynriel would not overhear their conversation.

The girl kept her eyes on the floor while she answered. "He refuses to eat, Master."

"Oh." Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose while he tried to decide whether this was better or worse than he had expected. He quickly decided to go with worse. _That stubborn... Still he finds ways not to cooperate!_ "I see."

"You told me to tell you if there were any problems," the slave said softly, as if she feared that she had made an error.

"Yes, I did. That's fine. I'll go see him." He turned to Feynriel, who was still sitting at the desk. "Could you excuse me for a moment? Something has come up."

Feynriel nodded. "No problem."

"I'll be right back." Hawke gestured to the slave to walk with him and left the library. 

* * *

He did not say anything to the girl while he quickly walked to the bedroom, but this time he wasted no thoughts on worrying about the way he should treat slaves. There was only one thing important right now.

Damian hesitated a few frantic heartbeats before he pushed the bedroom door open and stepped inside, only to immediately come to a halt again.

The room was a mess. Shards of the broken chamber pot and the glass jug with water lay on the floor, along with the remains of the nightstand. The sheets had been torn, the pillows and the mattress ripped open. The soft feathers they had contained were everywhere and made it look like it had snowed inside. Or like something had exploded, which would probably be a more accurate description.

And in the middle of it all was Fenris. He was half-lying, half-sitting on what was left of the ruined mattress, leaning with his back against the bed's headboard. His chin rested on his chest. Apart from his smallclothes he was completely naked, so that the markings, which decorated nearly every inch of his body and were lighting up irregularly, were clearly visible. Hawke had only taken off Fenris' leather shirt that night, suspecting that it would not be appreciated this time if he removed Fenris' trousers as well. Apparently the elf had torn them off in his rage.

Damian could feel his heart beating in his throat. "What is this mess?" he snapped at the two slaves who had withdrawn to the other side of the room. "I told you he should be comfortable!"

The slave who had accompanied Hawke looked pleading. "Please, Master. He was so angry we did not dare to come near him."

"If you did not come near him, then how do you know he doesn't want to eat?"

"He calmed down a few hours ago and we've brought him food since then, but he has not touched it." The slave pointed at a plate on the floor next to the bed, still filled with slices of bread and fruit.

Suppressing a sigh, Damian turned his back on the two slaves. The sound of voices seemed to have drawn Fenris' attention, because he slowly raised his head a little to look at Hawke.

The sight made Damian feel cold inside. He had never seen Fenris in such bad shape before. There was no doubt anymore that he was really, seriously ill. Sweat glistened on the elf's forehead; dark circles underlined his eyes, and despite the small spark of anger that lit up in them, he did not appear truly lucid and was struggling to prevent his eyelids from closing.

The collar Hawke had placed around Fenris' neck now became visible as well. The skin around and underneath it was clearly bruised and chafed after Fenris' attempts to get it off. Several small streams of dried-up blood ran from the metal ring to his collar bones. In the glow of the markings he looked like Death had already placed one hand on his shoulder.

 _Oh, Fenris_. Damian wanted to drop to his knees and wail and weep until Fenris had forgiven him. He wanted to lie down next to him and hold him close, tell him that everything would be alright and hear Fenris say that it would be alright. He wanted to heal the marks on Fenris' throat, because that was the only damage he could heal, the only pain he could make go away. But that tiny flame of anger and hostility that burned in Fenris' eyes told Hawke that he could not come close enough to do any of those things. So he remained where he was, out of the reach of his lover, with dry eyes and mouth and legs that felt like they were made of rubber.

"I hear you don't want to eat," he heard himself say. "Your body needs all the strength it can get."

Fenris turned his head to the side. "Why?" he croaked. His damaged throat made speaking audibly difficult. "Might as well hasten the inevitable."

 _He wants to die._ Panic rushed up inside Damian so quickly it almost knocked him over. _He can't. He can't die. I couldn't bear that, the cold, the emptiness..._ "No, that's not true. You can't believe that. You can't give up. "To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker." You said that. You believe that. You can't just give up now!"

Fenris' eyes closed during Hawke's brief rant, and for a moment Damian thought he had fallen asleep. When Fenris suddenly spoke again with his rough, wounded voice, Damian nearly jumped. "I was free." The flame in his eyes began to burn a little more fiercely.

It seemed like Fenris had not heard a thing of what the other man had just said, but Damian nonetheless grasped this new opportunity. "And you still are. Or you will be again." His tongue nearly tripped over the words, so hastily he wrestled them out, as if Fenris would understand if he could get the reassurances out fast enough. "This is only temporary. After this is all over, when you're well again, you can do whatever you want. But for now I need you to hold on, Fenris. Just be strong. Please."

Fenris let his head lean back. Again he did not react to what Hawke had said. "The fault is mine," he growled instead. His eyes found Damian's. "For ever placing my trust in a mage."

Damian drew a shaky breath. Against his sides his hands clenched into fists. "Be fair, Fenris. You have stopped trusting me a while ago. I have lost count of the number of suspicious looks you have given me, and the times you have questioned my motivations. I don't blame you. You... you're not well, after all. A-and I know this situation isn't helping, but... you left me no choice! Trying to organize a rebellion, collaborating with apostates... the magisters would have your head for that! If Claudius hadn't warned me..."

For the first time he appeared to have Fenris' full attention. The elf pushed himself a bit more upright. "It was... the right thing to do."

"Do what exactly? Because all I saw was a pointless endeavor that would get you killed a lot more quickly than the markings could do. The magisters knew of your every move. They were watching all the time, and they could have ended your life many times over." Damian paused to steady himself. He found himself barely capable of speaking about Fenris' potential death. "Have you considered that maybe this is just another idea - an obsession - which the demons put in your head? That they encourage you to try to have slaves rebel, because they love violent things like that? You found it in you to doubt me, and what there is..." _Is... or was?_ "...between us, but it never even occurred to you that your noble mission could be the product of demons' manipulation?"

Fenris looked away again. Damian thought he saw a hint of doubt flash across the other man's features, but even if that was true, it was quickly suppressed. "I wasn't followed," Fenris said stubbornly to the wall. "I checked."

"Ha!" A mad burst of laughter escaped Damian. "You can't be serious! You should see yourself, Fenris! You're looking cross-eyed from exhaustion and can barely manage to look straight at me. I bet you wouldn't even be able to spot your own shadow, let alone one of the magisters' spies!"

His words were met with heavy silence.

"You need to eat, Fenris."

No reaction. Not even a glance in his direction.

"I'm not going to let you die."

Fenris continued to look at the wall. Only the tensing of his abdominal muscles suggested that he had heard Hawke.

"Damn it! I am a mage!" Damian suddenly yelled at him. "There has to be something I can do, and you are going to let me try it! You are going to live long enough to let me try it!"

The flame of anger in Fenris' eyes expired, and it was as if Damian watched a part of Fenris himself die.

For a few more heavy breaths he stared at Fenris, searching for something else to say, searching for those magical words that would finally make him cooperate. Eventually he gave up and spun around. After he had turned his back on the bed and Fenris, Damian noticed the two slaves, who were still standing near the wall. He had completely forgotten about their presence during his conversation - if this frustrating, nonsensical exchange of stubbornness could be considered such - with Fenris. He might have felt embarrassed about that, if their humble posture and large, patient eyes had not given him an idea. There would be other ways to get Fenris to eat; he could try to get the elf to swallow something while he was asleep, but it would be preferable if Fenris would consent and choose to take some food. It was a leap, and the chance that Fenris would let himself be convinced was small, but it was worth a try.

"Go get Elias," he told the slave he had ordered to find an unbreakable jug and chamber pot. He did not trust the old slave, not after the way he had kept the existence of the ritual chamber a secret, but some kind of bond appeared to exist between him and Fenris. It was clearly no friendship, and Hawke had no idea what it was supposed to be, but Elias had eventually revealed that hidden room to Fenris. Perhaps the old man would be able to get through to him.


	28. Chapter 28

Fenris stopped paying attention to Hawke. There was nothing the mage could say to make up for what he had done. Nothing left that mattered enough to keep going. Hawke's betrayal was so immense, so... if a word existed that could describe the sharp edge of his wounded trust, Fenris did not know it. All he knew was that it had made everything meaningless. He had survived a decade of being on the run, of hiding in insecurity, cowering in fear of Danarius' power. One thing had made his survival possible. One person. In all those years, Hawke had been the only one who Fenris had learned to trust completely. All that time Hawke had been the person he could rely on. Hawke had broken the last chains which bound Fenris to Danarius, only to turn around and apply new ones himself.

Fenris shivered. Despite the moderate temperature of the room he was covered in sweat and his body switched between feeling burning hot and icily cold. _Never trust a mage_. A simple rule, and yet he had broken it and now paid the price. Had his feelings clouded his judgment that much? What a weak fool he was! _I just wanted to be happy._ _I should have hated him, like I hate them all! Why could I not hate him? Why could I not walk away?_

He would die here. Here, in Minrathous, the heart of the Tevinter Imperium, the place he had sworn never to return to. And he would die in chains, as a slave. Not as a free man. Ten years of running and fighting had all become meaningless, reduced to ashes. All for nothing. He had ended up right where he had begun. How could he have ever believed that the Maker watched over him?

His exhaustion numbed every sound; it all seemed to come from far away, too weak to reach Fenris' ears and be understood. He thought he heard Hawke mumble something, but he did not know what, nor did he care. Even the demons appeared to have more difficulty to get through the fog in Fenris' mind, which would have been an advantage... if he had still cared.

He kept his eyes closed and quickly lost track of time. The next moment Fenris became aware of his surroundings again he was not certain whether he had fallen asleep or not. Everything was quiet, and for a while he wondered what could have drawn him out of his state of numb unawareness. Had Hawke left? Had he returned?

"Well, well, what an unexpected turn of events."

The voice went right through Fenris' armor of hopelessness and stirred something inside him that resembled defiance. He turned from his side to his back - becoming aware of the uncomfortable feeling of the hard bed base - and looked up to see Elias standing next to the bed with a smug look on his face. "As much as a disgrace it is to have to serve you and your barbarian, you do provide an unexpected amount of entertainment in an old man's final days."

His annoyance gave Fenris the energy to glower at the old elf. "You find my situation amusing?"

Elias did not bother hiding it. "Very."

Fenris slumped back against the wooden bed frame. "Leave me alone if you are just here to gloat. This is your fault! You wanted this to happen."

"Still unwilling to accept your own responsibility, I see."

"You knew of the ritual chamber!"

Elias scoffed. "And I showed it to you, leaving the choice what to do with the knowledge up to you. You decided to share it with the Fereldan. I admit I didn't think he would have it in him... He always seemed so afraid to evoke your righteous anger. Perhaps he'll survive in the Imperium after all."

"He's gone mad." Fenris stared at the pulsating markings on his arm. He should have seen it coming. Looking back, it was easy to recognize the signs, the warnings that Hawke had been balancing on a very unstable edge. Fenris remembered how Hawke had panicked when he heard his brother had been kidnapped, and had witnessed Hawke kill every man who stood between him and Carver - from Keran to the young, dark-skinned mage who used blood magic to wake Carver up from the spell that bound him. Everyone who had been involved had been executed without hesitance. Then, Fenris had believed this to be a good thing, a sign that Hawke had finally learned not to keep forgiving and helping those who pretended to be helpless and innocent while their betrayal was so obvious. Now it fitted in with the rest, in the picture of a Hawke who had become terrified of losing anybody else. The nightmare Fenris had awoken him from, his desperate insistence to Fenris that everything would be alright even immediately after Fenris had almost killed him while under the influence of the demons' whispers. That drunken night... the night in which they had made love again after such a long time, the night Fenris had decided to show Hawke the secret room after all.

 _I should have realized it._ For the first time in months he had to think about the concern Aveline had expressed to him, before they had boarded the ship which would take them away from Kirkwall. What was it she had said when he had insisted on Hawke being strong? _"Even the strongest can't bear an infinite amount of misfortune."_ Hawke had been the strongest and most honorable person Fenris had ever known, but the loss of his family, one by one, had still managed to bring him down.  

"You're both out of your mind if you ask me," Elias remarked with a shrug, triggering another dark look from Fenris.

"Nobody's asking you," he bit back.

"Forgive me, Master." Elias made a mock-bow. "Continue to wallow in self-pity then, since you do not appear to care about dignity."

"You don't know what it's like to gain freedom and lose it again." As soon as he said it, Fenris regretted how tormented he sounded. As if he could count on any empathy from Elias!

"No, I do not," Elias agreed. "But I do know about loss, and dignity, and that you are pathetic."

Fenris wanted to turn his back on the other elf, but his anger would not allow such a sign of defeat. Even now Elias managed to torment his pride in such a way that he was unable to simply ignore it. "You speak of dignity as if it means something in our situation. Slavery is without dignity. It is one of the many things stripped from us with our freedom."

Elias rolled his eyes. "Maker have mercy, you really are the melodramatic type! A man can always choose how to carry his fate. You always have a choice."

"Between slavery and death, you mean."

"I am talking about choice within the bonds of slavery. Slavery does not make a man worthless. Only he decides whether it does. What you and your barbarian are doing here will likely result in the death of everybody in this house, but do you see me thumping my fist on the floor and crying out how unfair life is? No. I do what I must, as every man should."

Fenris shook his head. "Following your line of reasoning, everybody should surrender to the circumstances, no matter how cruel those are. You would be content with the bonds of slavery and expect everybody else to be as well. But I... I think that's wrong. Slavery is wrong."

While he said it, Fenris felt doubt creeping up. Hawke had claimed that his focus on fighting Tevinter's practices of slavery was the result of the demons that whispered in his mind. Could that be true? Was his conviction nothing more than just another game of those monsters? He did not recall the same devotion during his time in Kirkwall, but then again his primary focus had been to remain free. His status as a fugitive had left little room for ideals. He had not even dared to admit his feelings for Hawke while Danarius was still alive! But that brought him back to the question whether those feelings were indeed real... Or had been. It did not matter anymore. Hawke had put a collar around his neck and chained him. It was over. Everything was over. He could not go on after this.

Elias folded his arms and leaned with his back against the wall, a pose which would never have been permitted under the watchful eyes of Danarius. "I am amazed that in your position you still manage to display such an impressive amount of arrogance. You keep thinking that you are better than me and every other poor slave in this country. Just because you have tasted freedom, you think you are the only one who knows better. You have seen the truth in it all and it's up to you to educate us ignorant sods. Because we _just don't know any better_. But when I look at you, I think you are the one who is the worst off."

Fenris' chuckle surprised himself. "My sister's opinion was exactly the opposite."

"Is that supposed to be another reason I should feel sorry for you? You use your lack of freedom as an excuse for giving up on everything. You try to cover up your own weakness with it. But let me tell you this: whether or not a person is free is not what defines him. Who is truly free, after all? How free are the magisters, who have been educated and drilled into what they are from a very young age? How free is your barbarian, trying to prevent the magisters from simply getting rid of both of you? We all have our constraints, no matter how "free" we are. I have loved, I have mourned, and I have served to the best of my abilities with honor. You wanted to spark a rebellion. You longed to be the great example of a slave winning freedom and wanted everybody to rally behind that. But you are no example. Every slave who rises in the morning and performs their duties and finds a way to be content with what little they are allowed is worth more than you."

Fenris could do little more than stare at the bald man with gaping mouth. He was uncertain whether this was the greatest nonsense he had ever heard or the most profound view on slavery and the meaning of life. "You..." He did not even know how to finish that. _\- are an idiot. Are unbelievable. Can't be serious._ "You're claiming that the magisters have as much freedom as slaves?"

Elias scowled. "Are you missing my point on purpose or is that part of your condition?" he asked accusingly. "I did not say that we're equal in that regard. Obviously we are not. But that is no reason why we would differ at heart. Danarius and I both lost a child. Should I dismiss his loss simply because he was my master?"

"Danarius did not _lose_ his child," Fenris corrected sharply. "It had no magic, so they killed it."

Elias' smile was grim. "How free is a man who cannot let his own child live when it lacks such a trait?"

Fenris wanted to answer that, but discovered he had no retort. Memories of hot tears on his back and nails scratching the skin open flooded him, made even more intense and painful with the spin the demons gave on it. Memories of the roughest, most violent night he had ever experienced in Danarius' bed danced around in his mind. _No, I don't want to see it. Don't want to feel it. I don't want to remember that. I don't want to go back._

But he only remembered more. Illythia's red eyes and less than perfect hair, and the almost solid antipathy that hung between her and Danarius from then on. Moments with the couple in the same room had become increasingly rare as well, until they had both mostly lived in their own part of the mansion. Neither had ever been able to forgive the other for the death of their child, for their mutual failing to produce a suitable heir.

Fenris turned on his side, away from Elias. He did not want this. Did not need this. Was it not enough already? All he wanted was to stop caring. Not care about anything. Stop everything.

The sound of Elias moving around made Fenris look up again. He was just in time to see the old slave put the plate with food on the bed, next to Fenris' feet, in the middle of the feathers which had once belonged inside the mattress. Elias did not look guilty or embarrassed that Fenris had caught him doing that. He simply straightened his back, folded his arms again, and questioningly raised an eyebrow.

"Hawke sent you." He tried to make it sound like an accusation, but ended up with an emotionless statement.

"I do as my master commands."

Fenris let his eyes close. "So the whole speech was fake as well?"

"I am going to be gentle and assume your condition is to be blamed for your ignorance. No, my instructions weren't so detailed that they included the speech."

"I don't want to eat."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want him to win."

"Who?" Elias asked. "Danarius or your Fereldan?"

"I... neither." He forced himself to look at Elias. "I mean both. I..."

Elias looked highly skeptical. "The level of reasoning of free people must be far beyond the grasp of humble slaves. How does you not dying equal the Fereldan or Danarius winning? It's about your death, so I'd say you will be the one who loses if you give up."

"He... I..." With some effort Fenris wiped away the bead of sweat which had made its way to the tip of his nose. His neck hurt. The collar had dug sharply into his flesh. "He chained me! I trusted him, and he put this cursed collar around my neck! I don't want it!"

"And thus you allow yourself to turn into a sad heap of self-pity? You've lived as a slave for most of your life. What's a few days more? Is your barbarian not trying to cure you? What about your life after that? Not everything can go the way you wish. It's moments like these that determine what you are. So show me. Show me if there is a small part inside of you that warrants all that pride that you have. Prove that you are more than a discontented child!"

Fenris' eyes followed Elias' gaze to the plate amidst the ruined mattress. Something was encouraging him to take that plate and throw it at Elias' bald head. He was sick and tired of it all. Sick of being manipulated and forced into doing things others wished him to do: Danarius, demons, Elias, and Hawke. To the Void with them all! He had to do what _he_ wanted, but the problem was that Fenris no longer knew what he wanted. The only thing he could come up with was the opposite of what everybody else wanted, which indeed now seemed like the whim of a child that desperately wanted to show it had a mind of its own. Was that enough to give his life for, all that he had left? Was Hawke's betrayal great enough to remove every reason to keep living? Hawke had not always been part of his life. Fenris had managed to survive on his own for years... but those years had been miserable to say the least.

Were the demons trying to make him give up, or did they want him to keep going so they could be amused for a while longer? What did _he_ want?

Fenris did not know. Not anymore.

Perhaps he should find out before he made a decision that allowed no retreat.

He brushed away the few feathers which had ended up on his plate and took a slice of honeyed bread. After staring at it for a while longer, Fenris finally took a bite, and then another one.

Elias watched him chew and swallow three more bites, then turned and left without saying another word. 

* * *

 

When Elias told him of his success, Hawke did not smile. He had expected to be relieved, but it was a sense of disappointment he felt washing over him. He might have won this battle, but the fact that Elias had managed to get through to Fenris whereas Hawke could not was proof that he had lost something as well, something that was almost as important to Hawke as Fenris' life. So he muttered his approval to Elias and bent over Danarius' documents again, although his vision was too blurred to be able to decipher the letters.


	29. Chapter 29

"This is fantastic, Hawke! We've found it! Everything indicates that this is really Danarius' description of the ritual."

"Is it?" Damian did not share Feynriel's enthusiasm, much to Feynriel's surprise.

"What do you mean? We have translated everything. Of course it's the ritual!"

With a sigh Damian pushed the product of more than a week of labor away. "I know that. I just don't see how this is fantastic. If I was a magister I might have been elated about the prospect of creating an army of lyrium-laced bodyguards, but I do not want such an army of bodyguards. All I want is to fix the one that I already have, and nothing in these documents hints at how to accomplish that! Fenris already has the markings; I need to stabilize them, and I doubt simply performing the ritual a second time will do that. It's more likely that it would kill him."

Feynriel angled his head at Hawke's display of frustration. "I really think we should go to my mentor with this. Claudius has a lot more knowledge than I of things like this. He may figure out a way to adapt the procedure described here to save Fenris."

Hawke squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. "I know."

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Feynriel looking at him with concern. "Hawke? Are you well? Claudius will help. The magisters are not as bad as people who are not from Tevinter think."

Damian nodded meekly, his gaze trailing to the translation of Danarius' notes again. For a while he stayed quiet, asking himself whether he should open up to Feynriel or not. In the end he decided it might be better to share some of his worries with a fellow mage, one who had probably more experience with such matters than anybody else. "It's not just that," he said softly. "Not trusting Claudius I mean, though that does concern me. What's stopping him and the others from kicking me out when I give them what they want? I have no guarantee he will feel obliged to continue to help me. And even if Claudius will help... I'm not sure we have much time left."

"You mean Fenris?" Feyrniel asked. "Is his condition deteriorating that quickly now? I think I haven't seen him in over two weeks."

"He's not doing well, no." Damian ran a hand through his hair, realizing he was avoiding to look at Feynriel. Though he was reluctant to talk about it, he felt the strong need to hear someone reassure him. Even now, he needed others to make him feel better. He still could not stand entirely on his own. "But that is not what I meant. I... it's..."

"What's going on?" Feynriel pressed. "You look more tired each day. Are you sleeping well?"

A brief chuckle danced from Damian's mouth. "That's because I don't want to sleep. I try to postpone it as much as possible. It's... well, it's getting harder to resist."

There. He had said it. Damian allowed himself to exhale slowly. Feynriel was quick to understand what he had said.

"Are you actually considering accepting a demon's offer?" he hissed. "Surely you must know better than that! They are just trying to trick you."

Damian shrugged. "Maybe. But if it would save Fenris' life... Well, I haven't accepted anything yet - obviously - but they are so _relentless_. Each night they come to me. They assume his form, perfectly healthy and happy again - as happy as Fenris can be, I guess - or miserable and dying... and always the message is the same: they can save him. They can prevent his death. All I have to do is give in, accept their offer..." He raised his head and looked at Feynriel, his eyes a pale blue, like ice that was about to crack. "It's not that I was unfamiliar with this tactic. They have tried it many times before, each time... each time I lost someone. They have visited me as Father, Mother, Bethany, Carver... or everybody at once. Always with the promise to give me my family back. It was easier to resist then, because even though I missed them, I knew that they were dead, and nothing can bring the dead back to life. I have no interest in a family of shambling corpses." Another laugh, short, ugly, rough. "But Fenris... he's not dead _yet_ , and there _has_ to be something that can save him. It has to be possible. There has to be something I can do. And maybe a demon can indeed save him. It's not like they posses no power. But it would be a pretty miserable rescue attempt if I made a deal that heals Fenris, only to try to bite his head off as soon as I wake up. That seems to be a nasty habit of abominations."

Feynriel leaned forward, gently placing a hand on Damian's knee. "My mentor will find a way. You'll see. So I would wait a while before deciding to turn into an abomination."

Hawke grimaced at the attempt at humor. He did not reveal what was perhaps the worst: that his fear of unintentionally hurting Fenris if he let himself be possessed was the only thing keeping him from making such a forbidden deal. Otherwise it seemed a fair bargain. 

* * *

They spent a few more days copying Danarius' documentation, but then the time had come to take a leap of faith and hand their findings over to Claudius. Hawke went to the Circle early that day, a copy of the Arcanum text in his bag. He had checked up on Fenris that morning, who had been vast asleep, as usual. They had not spoken since Hawke had locked Fenris up in their bedroom. Every time he had gone to see if everything was well and heal the injuries the collar caused, Fenris had been asleep. Not that Damian really minded. He was not looking forward to another confrontation. It would probably only make him feel worse. No, after Fenris had been healed would be soon enough to face each other again.

Damian noted with wry amusement that he must have risen in Claudius' esteem: the magister only made him wait for thirty minutes before he let him into his office this time. No doubt Feynriel had already informed him of their progress.

When the usual ritual of overly kind greetings and expressing the hope that everything was well with everyone, Claudius settled in the chair behind his desk and bid Hawke to take a seat as well. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Damian raised his brow at the magister's failed attempt to hide his eagerness. He took his time to assess the situation, estimate how likely it was that Claudius would keep his word, but those few extra seconds did not bring more clarity than the past few days of brooding and musing. It was still a gamble he would have to take.

"Maybe Feynriel has already informed you of something that we've found..." Hawke began. "Texts which presumably have been written by Danarius, containing information about the ritual that was used to give Fenris his markings." He put a hand in his bag to retrieve the copies, but did not reveal them just yet. "Unfortunately this still does not tell me how to fix what has gone wrong with Fenris' markings. I know..." Hawke shook his head and smiled to himself, preparing himself to sound as confident as he could. "I know there is little keeping you from simply using this information for your own benefit once I give this to you, but I'm hoping that you are willing to prove that all that talk about how civilized you are is based on more than just fancy words. I have something you want, and I need your help finding a way to save Fenris. Can we agree on an exchange? Danarius' notes for your aid?"

Claudius leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully tapping the fingertips of both hands against each other. Damian envied him for how completely in control he looked, so full of confidence and calculation. Despite his efforts Damian caught himself holding his breath while he waited for an answer, and was painfully aware of the beads of sweat rolling down his back.

"You are attempting to change the terms of our original arrangement," Claudius remarked softly. "I seem to recall that our initial deal was my aid in you claiming Danarius' mansion, _in exchange_ for anything you found on the ritual and permission to examine Fenris. I have yet to receive _either_ of those."

"This is not just any information on the ritual," Hawke countered. "It's an actual description of how to perform it. It's everything you need! You had me duel a magister to gain entrance to Danarius' estate. I nearly died in that arena. It's not like you just handed it to me on a silver platter. Surely you can do a little more..."

"Let me ask you a question first - purely out of curiosity. What are your plans after this business with Fenris is resolved?"

Damian stared at the dark-haired magister, not understanding what to think of this sudden change in the topic of their conversation. Was this some kind of trick? Was there a right answer that would get him Claudius' aid? But what the magister wanted to hear was a mystery to him, so he decided to stick to the truth. "I - We will leave, of course. I'm not sure where. Somewhere the Chantry won't find me, I suppose."

Claudius' face betrayed his surprise. "You plan to leave the Imperium? Just like that? I would have expected someone in your position to negotiate about the possibility of staying, gaining a position in our Circle. Has the Champion of Kirkwall no ambition?"

 _This must be a trick._ Damian tried to snicker, to show Claudius that he would not fall for this. "I am not so naive to believe that you and the rest of the magisters want me here. I know lineage is just as important here as it is for the nobility in the Free Marches or Ferelden. I have no illusions that even the lowliest position would be available to me, even if I aspired it. No, Fenris has too many bad memories of this place, and even if we neglect that part, I would not wish to live here."

"Although it is true that most of the magisters can take pride in the generations  that came before him or her, we still do not turn away from talent. Feynriel is a half-breed bastard, and not even an Imperial citizen by birth. And yet he has become my apprentice and will have a promising career ahead of him."

 _Is he honestly trying to convince me?_ Damian almost felt flattered. "I am no dreamer. There are countless others like me. I believe they are currently squatting in your city. Why not give them a chance, huh? They probably are more capable than me as well, with years of training in a Circle. I am an apostate and my education has mostly focused on hiding my talents, rather than improving them."

Claudius waved dismissively and scoffed. "Bah. They are of no use to us. They have spent too long under the doctrine of your Chantry, have their head filled with misguided words and outright lies."

"What, you mean the debate about that short sentence in the Chant? 'Magic must serve man, but never rule over him'? I'm sure they've changed their mind about that by now. The fact that they are here now proves that, doesn't it?"

The magister drew his upper lip up in contempt. "It's not just that. I am referring to core beliefs about the woman who has spewed those words."

"Ah. I suppose you do not appreciate what Andraste did as much as people outside of Tevinter."

"She was a hypocrite at best, an imposter at worst." Claudius abruptly leaned forward, planting his elbows on the desk. "What if I told you that Andraste was a mage herself?"

This time Damian could not prevent his surprise showing through. The revered mother in Lothering would have had a stupor if she had heard this kind of heresy. After Fenris' stories he had experienced the magisters' arrogance and sense of superiority first-hand, but that they would go this far baffled him. Brand her a traitor for helping slaves rebel was one thing, but claiming she had been a mage, just like the magisters she had opposed?

"You look skeptical, my friend," Claudius observed.

Damian would not describe his own dumbstruck face as "skeptical". Though he had never been a very devout person and had actually told a shocked Sebastian that there "was no Maker, only demons", Claudius' revelation still surprised him, simply because it was so strongly in contradiction with everything else he had ever heard about the legendary person that was Andraste. Before Hawke had come up with a way to reply, Claudius recited a line from the Chant in a dramatic voice. "'The Maker kindled the sun's flame, scorching the land. Their crops failed, and their armies could not march. Then He opened the heavens and bade the waters flow, and washed away their filth.'" He bared his teeth, eyes gleaming wickedly. "Tell me, Champion of Kirkwall, can you let it rain fire from the heavens to scorch the land?"

 _Oh, the revered mother would never have woken up again after hearing this._ "I... can..."

"As can every other meager apostate. That witch Andraste was no different, only she had the gall to claim that it was a sign of the Maker being on her side."

Damian said nothing, his mind reeling as he tried to decide whether he should believe this. So much of Thedas had been built around Andraste's story. The Chantry revered her as much as the Maker. It was because of Andraste that the Chantry existed, and what she had said about magic was an important - if not _the_ \- reason the Circle system had been developed. All this distrust for mages, the almost universal belief that they had to be locked up to keep the common people safe... because of Andraste and her followers. Could it be true? Had the reason for a lifetime of running and hiding with his family been a mage herself? But how was that possible? Would nobody honestly have seen through the act? Or had they simply not cared?

Then he recalled the statue Meredith had commissioned in his honor after his battle against the Arishok: an armored figure, complete with helmet, holding a flaming sword. Even though Hawke had never worn armor in his life, and the few times he had held a sword Carver had beaten him black and blue, despite their age difference. The notion that Damian Hawke would have managed to defeat the Qunari's strongest warrior with one of those was laughable. Yet that was how Kirkwall would have remembered him: a warrior. A brave man holding a sword. And this lie had taken shape right under his nose. Andraste had lived hundreds of years ago. Whether the lie had come from herself or had been devised by the people worshiping her after her death, the result was the same. History could easily be adjusted. It all depended on what people wanted to believe, and believing that Andraste had been normal, an ordinary woman who had simply been so good and pure that the Maker himself had fallen in love with her and had given his people another chance was obviously more attractive than a charismatic mage who had managed to raise an army.

"You are angry. I can see it," Claudius noted. "You see how misguided it all is, the rules that try to keep people like you down, born out of fear. Lies devised to keep the lesser people in control. Would you claim that you are okay with this? That you do not aspire to break free from it? I do not believe that. You would not have come as far as you have if you lacked willpower and ambition. A refugee with little more than the clothes on his back, in an unfriendly city filled with people who despise you. But still you managed to rise to nobility and beyond. You became the hero of the city that hates everything that you are: a Fereldan, a refugee. A mage. Do not say that it was all mere luck, that you did not wish for it."

Damian brushed with his thumb over the pages in his bag. He had not withdrawn his hand during their entire conversation. "Oh, I did wish for it," he replied. He noticed a glimpse of victory in Claudius' dark eyes, as if making him admit this was an accomplishment. "I wanted everything. I thought I deserved it, deserved more than a life of insecurity an anonymity. I wanted more, and I worked for it. But..." he swallowed. "But every time I achieved something, crawled further out of the hole of poverty and anonymity, I lost something. Someone. I wanted more, and the people around me paid the price. I kept wishing for more, and now I'm left with nothing. I was not content with a farm or a little hovel. I reclaimed the estate of the Amells, but my brother lost his home because of what it took to get there. Now I live in a mansion I get lost in when I try to get to the kitchen and I can get kicked out of at any moment when the Senate decides it's time for a new magister. I wanted to be known and respected, and now the Chantry has branded me a wanted man, a heretic. I wished to be loved and cared for, but my actions have cost me my family and friends. Knowing what I know now, I would go back to a life in the mud in a heartbeat if I could." He rubbed his chin with his free hand. "I still don't know what you want to hear from me. Whether you are trying to find out if I'm a threat to the balance of power in Minrathous, or if I can be used for one of your schemes. Either way: I'm not interested. I am here for one reason only, and that is to save Fenris."

Claudius leaned back again, apparently finished sharing historical secrets. "So that is truly the only purpose left for you? Perhaps I should not be surprised. There seems to be something about the elf that makes his superiors care more about him than is good for them. Danarius also became so very infatuated with his little project. Poor fool. I don't think he was ever the same again after Fenris' escape."

Hawke jumped out of his chair so quickly that the heavy thing fell over. For a few moments he was too angry to speak, only able to stand there, trembling. "Do NOT compare me to Danarius! Don't you dare! We are not alike! I helped Fenris to be free of him. Fenris was simply property to him. He thought he _owned_ him and could do as he pleased. That's not me! I would never... I have never... forced him to... to..." He wanted to say it, say something, but he could not get the words over his lips. The memory of dark green eyes, wide with terror, choked him. Fingers frantically grasping the beautiful but merciless collar and yanking at it squeezed his throat shut.

_"Hawke! HAWKE!!!"_

_No. No. I did what was best. Whatever it takes. Whatever is necessary._

Damian leaned heavily on Claudius' desk. When his eyes focused again the magister was still quietly watching him what that strong, handsome face without belying any emotion. The magister waited a while longer to see if there was more to come, then spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Of course. An unfortunate slip of the tongue. Apologies. I meant nothing by it."

Realizing that he had managed to make a fool of himself once again, Damian lowered his head, pulled his chair back up and sat down. "Can I ask you something, Claudius?" he asked.

Claudius raised an eyebrow but nodded his consent nonetheless.

"What would you do to protect your wife?"

A smirk decorated Claudius' lips. "Is that supposed to be a threat, Fereldan?"

"No. I... I did not mean it like that. I was merely curious."

"Well, I do not know what purpose this type of question serves, but of course I would do my best to keep her safe."

Hawke shook his head. "Then... you would not understand. "Do your best"... it's... that's not enough - no offense. I will do everything within my power to fix whatever is wrong with Fenris' markings. And if my power is not sufficient, I will do anything to expand my power until it _is_ sufficient. I will _not_ let him die."

"Hm. Very moving. I'm touched." Claudius' expression failed to match his words.

"Do you think I still care if you mock me? The number of deaths I have caused - either directly or indirectly by failing to save them - might rival those of you and your colleagues combined. You are sorely mistaken if you think that I am just bluffing when I say that I am willing to do whatever it takes to have Fenris live another day."

If Damian expected another sarcastic response he was disappointed. Claudius appeared to consider what Hawke had said a bit more seriously this time. "If only you had been born in the glory of the Imperium," he mused. "You might have gotten far." His words were followed by a sigh. "If you give me what you have found, I will see what I can do."

Damian inhaled sharply. He could scarcely believe that the magister was suddenly giving in."Really? Do you promise?"

"Do not test my patience," Claudius warned darkly. "But yes, I promise."

Hawke took the documents from his bag. He wondered if he should hesitate, but it was too late to reconsider. To prevent insulting Claudius, he swiftly handed Danarius life's work over. Claudius' teeth flickered as he received the pieces of parchment with a smile.

Damian waited for the sting of doubt, the clenching of his stomach, for the bile that was sure to rise in his throat. But he felt nothing. The sinking feeling of having made a mistake remained absent. Handing this information to Claudius might have condemned countless slaves to the same fate that Fenris had suffered. A fate that was apparently so bad that Fenris had insisted the information would not be shared with Claudius or even Feynriel, even if that would cost him his own life. And now he had just handed it over, all for a simple promise.

But he felt nothing, and the truth was that Damian Hawke did not care.


	30. Chapter 30

Feynriel stared out of the window of his study in the Circle, which offered a beautiful view of the northern part of Minrathous. Although it was too far to be visible from here, the marketplace the apostates from outside of the Imperium had claimed as their territory was on his mind. The mages should not have been there anymore. They had been on the verge of scattering and fleeing the city weeks ago, but something was keeping them here. Something, or someone. Feynriel suspected it was the new leader who had supposedly arrived recently. Claudius had told him about Macarius' information after the meeting of the magisters and the Archon. The mysterious mage must possess a remarkable amount of power or knowledge of a way to protect against the magic of somniarii, because even after numerous attempts neither Feynriel nor Claudius had managed to track his presence in the Fade. It was a mystery indeed, and an unwelcome one at that.

Sighing, Feynriel pressed his forehead against the glass. Claudius was under a lot of pressure, and therefore Feynriel was as well. The Magisterium wanted the matter of the foreign refugees dealt with, without any trouble on their part, and their patience was wearing thin.

It would have been so much easier if the mages had just left Minrathous in a hurry and tried their luck elsewhere. Maybe then Feynriel could just have forgotten about the whole issue and moved on. But the matter dragged on, and his conscience was dragging him down. Harsher, more aggressive measures would have to be taken soon, and he was not looking forward to it.

He had attacked the mages while they were sleeping and their consciousness was in the Fade, had hounded them until their resolve had been broken and their minds snapped. It should have been sufficient, should have made it clear they were not welcome in the Imperium. And yet they remained, supposedly planning a revolt to overthrow the magisters. And they wondered why the Magisterium did not want them here! Coming here, thinking Tevinter owed them something because they were mages, and when they had not received the warm welcome they had expected, they immediately turned to treachery. Did they believe that years under the Chantry's yoke would evoke pity in the people of Tevinter? Why would men and women who strived for excellence in everything feel anything but contempt for these mages, who only excelled in obedience?

But Feynriel was not one of the Tevinters, at least not by birth. If fate had taken a slightly different turn, if Hawke had not allowed him to seek out the Dalish, he would have been one of the refugees on the marketplace. By the Void, if Hawke had not rescued him, he would have ended up as one of Claudius' slaves instead of his apprentice!

He might have pure luck - in the form of Hawke - to thank for the opportunity to go to Tevinter as a free man, but Feynriel had gained apprenticeship because of his skills, his unique power as a somniari. He had earned his place here, had worked hard for it. He had proven himself, and by doing so had earned the magisters' respect. This was the only place where he was not treated as an outcast, a danger, an abomination waiting to happen. The Dalish had never treated him as one of their own, and even though they lacked a First, they would never have allowed him to replace their Keeper when Marethari died. Rather no leader than having to follow an outsider. Even his mother had been ready to hand him over to the Templars when the nightmares started. Only the Imperium had welcomed Feynriel's powers and taught him to see them as a gift. Claudius had helped him control the magic of the dreamer, until he was capable of things he could never have imagined. Like destroying people's minds while they slept... The Tevinter Imperium had given him much, her respect and trust, but she asked for a lot in return as well.

It was probably the reason that so many people feared the Imperium and her illustrious magisters. Feynriel had been terrified when he had traveled to Tevinter, driven by the knowledge that he would eventually be destroyed by his own powers if he did not seek help from those who knew most of magic and how to control it. The truth turned out to be less frightening than he had feared. As far as Feynriel was concerned there was little difference between the magisters and the nobility of Kirkwall, or even the proud Dalish elves. At least the magisters had studied and worked hard for their position. Simply being of nobility and having the gift of magic was not enough to have a voice in the Senate, or at least one that was being heard. What did the nobles or the Dalish have to pride themselves on other than the womb they had been born from? What else gave them the right to look down on others? What had they accomplished on their own? The Imperium nurtured talent and rewarded power. It did not shun or fear it. No wonder the magisters had once ruled the entire continent!

True, Feynriel would likely never receive the position of magister, but he could undoubtedly rise high within the ranks of the Circle, positions which demanded respect and were not freely given, unlike in the Circles that fell under the White Divine's rule. He had heard the stories of nobody aspiring the position of First Enchanter in the Circle of Kirkwall, and Orsino eventually stepping in because somebody had to. It was typical for an institution that taught its students first and foremost to hate and distrust what they were. Feynriel was done hating what he was. He had finally found a home, a place where his powers were appreciated and with people who treated him as an equal. It was freedom, and he would continue to fight for his freedom, like he had all his life. This only happened to be the first time that the fight actually claimed lives and did not solely consist of hiding. It did not feel as heroic as he had believed when he was still a young boy.

When he heard the door open and close Feynriel turned around, knowing who it would be. "Greetings, Claudius," he welcomed his mentor.

"Good day, Feynriel," was the reply. Claudius strode to the window with long steps until he was standing beside the fair-haired mage. For a while the magister said nothing, silently staring out the window.

Feynriel's curiosity quickly got the better of him. "Has your inspection yielded any new results?" he asked.

Claudius turned away from the window. "Everything indicates that it is indeed the information we need about the ritual that he has uncovered," he said.

When he did not continue, Feynriel inquired further. "What will you do now? Are you going to test it?"

"Of course." Caudius smiled broadly. "This opportunity is too good to pass up on. I admit I expected little from the Fereldan, but your trust in him appears to be justified. It will take a few more days before I can start the first experiment, however. The instructions list a large quantity of lyrium and my dwarven supplier has told me he will need three more days before he can fill an order of that size. I am currently composing a list of the most suitable candidates. I think Agnos will be the most promising, don't you agree?"

Feynriel ignored the question. "What about... Hawke's request? Do you see a way to heal Fenris?"

Claudius' brow lowered. "You really need to rethink your loyalty and priorities here, Feynriel. Don't you think you have aided your hero enough?"

"I honestly have not been of much use to him yet," Feynriel countered. "I doubt my word was enough to have you arrange the duel. I helped with the translation of Danarius' notes, but the result is still useless to him."

"Just as useless as he has become to us." Claudius shrugged. "He tried to alter the terms of a bargain that has long been struck. I do not owe him anything. In fact, I think it's time to get rid of them. The Senate won't tolerate their presence in the mansion much longer. Macarius keeps making his insufferable jokes about it!"

"Surely you don't let Macarius determine what you should do," Feynriel hastened to say. "Hawke is a man of many talents. I'm sure he will continue to prove useful in the future."

"I have toyed with the idea of what he could accomplish against the Qunari, since he is - what do the ox-men call it? - Basalian? he might reach their leaders and strike a blow at the beast's head, but the man is clearly unstable and not interested in aiding the Imperium. The slave's influence has made him deaf for my words." Claudius paused for a moment. "Although he did come alone when he brought me the documents. Until then he always dragged the slave with him everywhere he went." He looked at Feynriel. "When was the last time you have seen him?"

"Fenris? A while. Hawke said his condition is deteriorating fast, so he's taken to bed for the past two weeks. He has not been able to help with the translation as far as I know, although prior to that he did not contribute much to the search either. He always appeared tired and distracted."

His mentor tapped his fingers on the window-sill while he thought about this. "So the slave's influence could be weakening," he muttered. "Interesting. Then perhaps there is more that can be done with this. I could offer him..."

"I believe Hawke is only interested in saving Fenris," Feynriel intercepted. "I doubt he will cooperate for anything else."

Claudius looked annoyed. "If you are still trying to convince me, I'll have to burst your bubble right now. That Fenris has caused far too much trouble already. He has killed a magister - his own master! - and by doing so has fanned the whispers that the magisters can be overthrown. Many slaves are still strutting around with the thought of freedom in their head. Add to that the evidence that he wanted to join the foreign mages and their rebellion, and we have someone we cannot allow to walk out of the Imperium. We would appear weak and incompetent."

"But... did you not bribe Danarius' spies so they would feed him false information? It was thanks to you that Fenris and Hawke were able to defeat him!"

"And I would have been happy to let him get away with it if he had not felt the need to come here and rub it in," Claudius snapped. "That cursed duel has only made things worse. Humiliated in front of our own city! And don't think I have forgotten your part in that little stunt!"

Feynriel kept his face impassive. "I don't know what you are talking about," he replied calmly. "I was right beside you the whole time."

Claudius snorted. "Of course you were. This is your last warning, Feynriel. Do _not_ go behind my back again for the Champion and the slave. You are doing more damage than you realize, and they are not worth it; they are already beyond saving."

"But.." Feynriel frantically tried to come up with something that would convince Claudius to show some mercy. The view from the window caught his eye. "They have become popular with the people, especially after the duel. If you simply let them disappear it could create more unrest. Besides, it would make the magisters look fearful. Do you want every peasant to know that you felt threatened by an ex-slave and a Fereldan apostate? It could fan the flames of rebellion and give the refugee mages more ammunition against you. Should we not tend to more pressing business before trying to get rid of such a minor issue, especially when it would prevent the minor issue from escalating? An occupied mansion is hardly as problematic as angry apostates and slave shipments that go missing. I still have not been able to find the leader of the rebel mages in the Fade. Should we not deal with him first, before he decides to strike? Like I said, he could use the disappearance of Hawke and Fenris against you. And the pirates... their raids started shortly after Hawke arrived, and still they continue! I think Hawke and Fenris deserve a little more time while..."

Claudius raised a hand to silence him. "What did you just say?" he asked intently.

Feynriel blinked. "Why - that I think that we should give Hawke a little more time while we-"

"Not that," his mentor interrupted. "Before that. You said the pirate raids started shortly after the Fereldan's arrival."

"Yes..." Feynriel did not understand Claudius' excitement. "They did, didn't they?"

"Exactly. And the rebels have shown interest in him as well. Their leader showed up not long after the Fereldan did. You're right... we should get to the bottom of this. I suspect the Fereldan might play a part in this after all."

"What..." Feynriel gaped at the magister. "That's paranoid! Hawke would not get involved with that! We've had him watched! He was only visited twice by a rebel mage, and both times it looked like they were unsuccessful. Surely he would have needed more than two visits to coordinate a rebellion!" He could not believe the disastrous turn their conversation had taken so suddenly. He had tried to buy Hawke more time, and instead he had ended up with an accusation of treason! Hawke might be here for his own reasons, but he was no enemy of Tevinter. Feynriel refused to believe that. Hawke was his friend. He would not ask for Feynriel's help while simultaneously attempting to destroy his home.

"You're conveniently forgetting the slave's visit to the mages' camp. So far we've assumed that Fenris was acting on his own, but it could have been a clever way to shift the blame on his current, unstable condition."

This was going horribly wrong. Feynriel took a few steps away from Claudius, then turned around and walked back. "I don't follow your line of reasoning," he breathed. "One moment you're talking about convincing Hawke to aid against the Qunari, the next you want to deal with him for treason."

"The two are not mutually exclusive. If you want to stay in control, you always need more than one plan." Claudius smiled triumphantly, pleased with his own genius. "For now we will see how far we can get with the former. Meanwhile I will try to discover the connection between the Fereldan, the refugees and the pirates, so that if the first plan fails, I can clean up this mess officially. The people will feel no desire to turn traitors into martyrs."

Feynriel pinched the bridge of his nose, desperate to come up with a solution for this problem. "Can we at least try to fix Fenris' markings? If you want to make him an example to discourage slaves from rebelling, it would be nice if you had more at your disposal than a man who can barely remain conscious."

His mentor eyed him thoughtfully for a while before he finally nodded. "I know you're proposing this out of empathy, hoping that the slave will somehow survive and escape judgment, but you make a good point. Fenris' execution should leave a lasting impression. Very well, I will have a look at it. It's no priority, though. I'm sure we will manage to rouse him in his current state as well." The pleased smile made way for a stern look. "This will have been the last time I have had to listen to you defending your hero, Feynriel. Enough is enough."

Feynriel swallowed heavily to get rid of the lump in his throat. "He saved me," he protested weakly. "Twice."

Claudius placed a hand on Feynriel's shoulder and squeezed softly. "All the more reason not to throw your life away. I am not being unreasonable. The Fereldan cannot be trusted and you should not allow him to drag you down with him. It will set you mind at ease when I have found proof connecting him to the pirates and the rebel mages."

Sighing, Feynriel looked out of the window again. "Fine," he said to Claudius. "If you find proof, I will immediately distance myself from Hawke and let you do as you wish. But until then I will continue to aid my friend."


	31. Chapter 31

Feynriel quietly closed the door of his bedroom behind him and sat down on the bed. It had been another long day. The slave Agnos was still recovering from the ritual, but although his body mended thanks to the gentle use of healing magic, it was uncertain whether his mind would recover from the ordeal as well. The man had not spoken a word after the lyrium had been melted into his skin; nothing but soft whimpers and pitiful whines escaped from his mouth once the screams had died away.

Feynriel closed his eyes. _Maker, the screams._ The slave's tormented screams still resounded in his head, haunting him. He had never heard a man scream like that before. For the first time he was able to understand Hawke's hostile, broody companion a little better. The caution and distrust appeared to be more warranted than Feynriel had believed at first. He had always assumed that it was the usual suspicion of ungifted people, born out of envy. Fear of something they could not comprehend, possibly combined with resentment for having been forced into slavery. But how could you not distrust the people who had put you through something as excruciating as the ritual? Agnos was a large, strong human with broad, muscular shoulders, - Claudius' best bodyguard -  but the ritual had reduced him to a whimpering child. Feynriel wondered how Fenris had managed to retain his sanity. Perhaps it had something to do with his elven blood. Claudius had chosen Agnos because he was the strongest of the slaves, dismissing Danarius' choice for an elf as a personal preference, but maybe that had been an underestimation of Danarius' wisdom. Or perhaps it was just a matter of luck that determined whether an individual could survive the procedure both physically and mentally. Time would tell.

Feeling the need to do something useful and turn his mind from the memories of the ritual he had witnessed two days ago, Feynriel lay down on his back and let his soul follow his connection with the Fade to enter the realm of dreamers and spirits. He could do it while standing - or from every other position - but he found lying down the most comfortable. His body tended to feel cramped upon return when he left it in a position that required constant activity of his postural muscles.

Despite the lack of further instructions from his mentor, Feynriel decided to search for the apostates' leader again. Claudius was distracted by the ritual and creating a bodyguard with lyrium powers for himself and seemed to have temporarily forgotten about the city's struggles, confident that everything would be dealt with soon enough. Feynriel was more worried about the mystery of the rebel mage. Except for the magisters and the Archon, he had been able to track whoever he wanted in the Fade. Even Hawke had not been a problem, whether he was in Kirkwall or Minrathous. Only the mysterious leader remained out of his reach. The chase had slowly become more personal for Feynriel. He could not stand it that a petty refugee had found a secret way to protect himself from somniarii. It made him feel vulnerable and insecure. His powers were the reason he was doing so well in Tevinter, so if he could not place his trust in them, what should he do? He had spent enough of his life fearing the day templars or demons would get to him. He was not going to sit and wait for this new, unknown threat to find him. If there was one thing Feynriel had learned in Tevinter, it was that you had to be the one to strike first if conflict was imminent.

Unfortunately he was still unable to deal with his enemy: this search proved as fruitless as all the previous ones. He located the equivalent of the mages' camp in the Fade without effort. By now he could recognize the individual refugees and their connection with the Fade, which granted them their magical powers. They were the same as usual. The same, ordinary people, ordinary mages. Once again considering  the possibility of the leader hiding among them, Feynriel scanned the feelings and motivations of the ghostly images around him. It was not mind reading. Not really. It only provided him with vague impressions, little more than hints and suggestions. Blood magic was far more effective for getting into somebody's head and could create a clearer picture of the mind that resided within, but for that he would have to be in the physical world and close enough to the mages' camp to have a good view of his target. The risk that he would get caught was too great, with no guarantee that he would find the leader quickly enough. He would be able to acquire more information if he attempted to scan the Fade while the mages were asleep as well - since more of their energy would reside in the Fade then - but because he had tried this tactic several times already he did not have any expectations about his chance of success. So far he had only managed to gather a vague description of the leader's looks. A male human, that much was certain, but details were frustratingly lacking.

Annoyed that he was none the wiser, Feynriel was about to turn his back on the Fade and return to his body when an impulsive idea made him pause. Perhaps he could do something good now that he was here anyway. A good deed might help to ease his conscience in these dark times. The memory of Agnos' agony still at the back of his mind, he reached out to trace Fenris.

The elf was easy to find. His presence was strong, stronger than of an ordinary sleeper. The markings must strengthen Fenris' connection to the Fade. Feynriel wondered if the same was true for Agnos now, and decided to find out later. He focused on the soul he had just located, picturing - and immediately creating - the path toward him, and dissolved the illusion of a physical form that the Fade demanded to travel it in an instant. Once he had reached his destination, Feynriel allowed the Fade to recreate his ghostly body: a slightly blurred image of his true flesh and blood. He could take another shape if he wanted to, but there was no need for that now.

He looked around, taking in the details of Fenris' dream. It was immediately clear that it was not an ordinary one. Their surroundings were little more than a dark, empty room. Fenris was sitting in the center, his face pressed against his drawn up knees, hands covering his ears. Blue light came off of him in waves, as if he was one of the lyrium veins that could be found everywhere in the Fade. Around him were the demons, drawn to the glowing figure like moths to a flame. They had assumed the appearance of people in Fenris' life, but Feynriel easily saw them for what they were. He had come a long way since the time Hawke had had to save him from the Fade's hold on him. Thanks to Claudius' training he was no longer easy to deceive.

Looking at the hunched figures surrounding Fenris, Feynriel spotted several versions of Danarius, a few Hawkes, Claudius, and even his own face once. The fact that they were able to change shape told him that he would be dealing with demons of pride and desire. Rage, sloth and hunger had been driven back by these higher-ranking entities, although they were still lurking near the edges of the dream, waiting for an opportunity, their chance to strike and crush the poor soul in their midst.

Deciding not to waste more time, Feynriel walked into the dream's territory. One of the demons wearing Hawke's face was the first to notice him. When the creature turned around, Feynriel could see it was holding chains in its hands. Why a demon that chose to assume Hawke's appearance would add chains to the illusion was a mystery to him, but who really knew what drove these creatures of sin? There was no time to ponder the question.

"What do you want, little mortal?" The demon's voice did not sound like Hawke at all. Instead of mimicking the voice of the body it emulated, it used the seductive female voice that most desire demons seemed to prefer. The contrast was comical. "Are you jealous? I would be happy to play with you."

Feynriel shook his head. "I am just here to get rid of you."

The fake Hawke feigned surprise and shock. "How rude. Can we not... converse instead? I sense you want something. Power, yes? I can give it to you. All the power you can dream of."

Feynriel smiled thinly. "I already have more of that than you could ever give me."

He raised his arms, hands spread, then abruptly closed them into fists. Simultaneously the floor of the dream rose up and engulfed every demon in the vicinity. For a moment he listened to the furious roars and screams the demons let out and watched the result of his manipulation of the Fade. The small hills he had created to capture the demons looked a bit like cocoons, or giant molehills. He had not tried this trick before, but it appeared to work well. The attack had confused the demons and hindered their ability to cast spells and free themselves.

Content with the result, Feynriel lowered his arms again. The demons' prisons melted into the floor at the same time as he did so, until the surface was as smooth and dark as it had been before.

They would be back, or others would come soon enough, but at least it granted Fenris some respite. Feynriel carefully approached the figure in the center of the room. Fenris had not looked up to witness his nice trick and continued to ignore him while he stood in front of the elf. "Fenris? Can you hear me?"

"Get away from me, foul demon!"

"Your gratitude still needs some practice I see. Don't you recognize me? I got rid of the demons for you."

Fenris kept his face pressed against his knees and his hands on his pointy ears. "I won't listen to anything you have to say," he grunted.

Feynriel sighed. "That's probably the best strategy to hold onto. Fine. Good luck, Fenris." He turned around, and in the blink of an eye he had left the dream.

* * *

Hawke became increasingly restless after handing the documents over to Claudius. Time went by, and he received no word about a possible solution for Fenris' condition. Every time he visited, the first question Feynriel had to answer was whether Claudius had made any progress. Every time the answer was the same, and he had to watch his friend's face crumble in disappointment. After more than two weeks of waiting Hawke had had enough.

"He's not going to help me, is he?"

Feynriel shrugged helplessly. "He is still testing a few things." That was not that far removed from the truth. It had become clear that though Agnos' body had survived the ordeal and likely would continue to live, the same could not be said of his mind. The extreme stress that was associated with undergoing the ritual had left the slave mute and simple. He was still able to carry out simple orders, but considering the physical and mental capabilities of Danarius' prototype, Claudius had hoped for something more. Uneager to waste more resources on something he still did not fully understand, Feynriel's mentor had turned to old texts on the subject of pain and the ability to withstand it, in hopes of finding information that could be used for the selection of a suitable subject.

"Is he at least going to let me stay here, or is he planning to kick me out?"

"You can stay here," Feynriel reassured Hawke. "It might help if we have more information about Danarius' reasons to select Fenris for the ritual. We need to know everything there is to know if we want to understand every aspect of it."

Hawke eyed him questioningly, suddenly suspicious. "Is this Claudius' new angle to get to examine Fenris?" When Feynriel said nothing, Hawke laughed. Or rather it was a mockery of a laugh, since true laughter could never sound so sad and pained. "He has no idea, hasn't he?" he asked Feynriel. "He doesn't get it either. Nobody knows. Nobody's got a clue."

Once his unhappy chuckle faded, Hawke started pacing, fervently rubbing his chin until the skin turned red. "Nobody knows," he muttered. "It's a complete mystery, and nobody knows the answer. Only Danarius knew, and he has taken it to his grave." He stopped, staring ahead with wide eyes. "... taken it to his grave," he repeated softly. "To his grave..." Understanding dawned on his face while Feynriel's brow knitted in confusion.

He nearly gasped in surprise when Hawke unexpectedly jumped towards him and grabbed his wrists. "I need you to teach me how to use blood magic."


	32. Chapter 32

"B-blood magic?" Feynriel tried to back away but Hawke would not release his hands. "But I... I d-don't know blood magic."

Hawke let out an irritated snort. "Can we please skip the part where you pretend I'm stupid? I've had enough blood mages lie to my face about their abilities to recognize the signs. You knew exactly what you were talking about when I asked you for help for the duel, and I don't think you happened to read about it in a book. Fenris might not be unbiased, but I don't believe he would make things up which he claims to have seen with his own eyes. The magisters pretend that blood magic is forbidden and frowned upon, but behind closed doors they practice it all. You are the apprentice of one of the most powerful magisters in Minrathous, and you expect me to believe that you have never learned the forbidden arts?" Finally realizing that he was making the slender young man uncomfortable, Hawke let go of Feynriel's wrists and took a step back. "I'm not asking so I can rat you out to the templars," he implored. "I want you to teach me. You can do that, right? Blood magic can be taught from mage to mage? No demons necessary?"

Feynriel uncomfortably shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Fine, I won't lie to you. But... but what do you even want with it? We know that the ritual involves blood magic, but that doesn't help Fenris. This kind of magic is dangerous, Hawke. It's not something to play around with to see what happens. Even magisters don't practice it as much as you might believe. What good will it do if you know blood magic?"

Hawke did not flinch or avert his gaze when he answered. "I need a way to communicate with Danarius."

With irritation he watched Feynriel's mouth fall open. He had no time for pointless debates. As soon as the plan had taken shape in his mind, Damian Hawke knew that it was the only way. Even if Claudius did intend to help, it was doubtful whether he would find the solution. Enough time had been wasted on guessing and feeble attempts. He had to go to source, the mind that had invented the ritual. If there was an answer to be found, it would be there.

Unfortunately Feynriel still felt the need to protest. "You intend to use blood magic to disrupt the peace of the dead? You want to pull a magister away from the Maker's side?! Hawke, this kind of magic is strictly forbidden, even in the Imperium! What lies Beyond is obscured for a reason, and even a hated enemy has to be granted rest once he has passed away. Don't you think that my mentor would have tried to get information from Danarius if it was that easy?"

"I don't intend to resurrect his corpse and let it dance the Remigold. I want to find his spirit in the Fade and talk to him there. Wherever he is now, I doubt it's at the Maker's side, so who knows, he might be grateful for a bit of distraction." Hawke shrugged when Feynriel's mood did not lighten at his attempt at humor. "And if Danarius wanted Claudius and the others to know about the ritual, he would have told them while he was still alive," he added. "So I assume Claudius saw little point in trying to ask his ghost."

"What makes you think that Danarius will tell _you_ what you want to know?" Feynriel pointed out. "You had a hand in his death. Even if you manage to contact him in the Fade, he may very well refuse to tell you."

"I will find a way to make him talk," Damian said, not managing to sound as confident as he would have liked. "There has to be a way."

"Spirits, Hawke!" Feynriel threw his hands up in the air. "That's all there is to your plan? Use some of the darkest and most dangerous magic in the world to find the spirit of someone who has every reason to refuse to cooperate, and just hope it will all work out?"

"It can't be any darker than the magic that was used for the ritual," Damian retorted testily. "The consequences will be mine. All I ask of you is that you teach me. You said that it is dangerous and considered not very polite, but not that it is impossible. I assume that that means it is indeed possible, and that there is a spell somewhere that will do what I want?"

"I... I think so, but..."

Damian did not let him finish. "Will you teach me?" 

* * *

The word "no" was on the tip of Feynriel's tongue, ready to pass his lips, but Hawke's remark about the magic involved in the ritual made him swallow it. How would this be any worse than the ritual? Danarius would have the rest of eternity to dwell the Fade, or whatever it was that the spirits of the dead did. A few minutes of disturbance would not be a very great loss, especially if it could save the life of someone Danarius had wronged with his magic at least as much as it would wrong him to disturb him after his death. He could vividly recall Fenris' quivering presence in the Fade, hands pressed against his ears, surrounded by demons which never ceased their whispering. And he still owed Hawke. So far there was nothing which indicated that Hawke was involved in the pirate raids or the brewing apostate revolt. Feynriel intended to stay true to what he had told Claudius: that he would continue to help his friend, the man who had saved his life twice, as long as he was no enemy of the Imperium. He ran a hand through his hair, looked up at Hawke's hopeful eyes, and nodded with a defeated sigh. "Alright. I will teach you."

It had been a long time ago since he had last seen Hawke truly smile, but at his consent the corners of Hawke's mouth lifted in a relieved smile and his eyes lit up with a fresh glimmer of hope. "Thank you. Now, what do I do?"

"Not now," Feynriel hastened to tell him. "I need to think about how to do this. I am really no expert on this kind of thing, so give me some time."

"Tomorrow?"

Barely suppressing another sigh, Feynriel nodded again, knowing that he could not count on any further postponement without fueling Hawke's restlessness even more. "Tomorrow," he agreed. 

* * *

Hawke barely slept that night, both eagerly and nervously awaiting the following day and what it would bring. He tried not to think about everything he had heard about blood magic, and of all its evils he had experienced first-hand, which naturally meant it was almost constantly on his mind. He thought about Quentin, the man who had - crazed by grief - used blood magic to rebuild his dead wife, using Mother's face. He thought about Evelina, who had turned to blood magic hoping to protect the orphans she had cared about and instead had ended up threatening the lives of those same children. Huon, who had murdered his own wife to fuel his spells for reasons only known to himself. Grace, Decimus, Idunna, Tarohne, Gascard DuPuis. Orsino.

 _"It's always the same."_ How many opportunities had Fenris had to say those words? Was it true? Would blood magic inevitably lead to that... that madness, that destruction? Would he end up like those mages, tearing down what he had hoped to save? Would his name be added to that depressing list if he went through with this?

 _"It's magic, like any other kind."_ Merrill had been practicing blood magic for years, and yet she had always remained uncorrupted, Damian tried to assure himself. Or had she? How much of her obsession with the mirror had been caused by that dark magic she had used to repair it? How strongly had her decision to ask a demon for help been influenced by years of spells fueled by blood?

What did it matter? Only one thing was certain, and that was that Fenris would not get better if Damian did not find a way to help him. He was out of options. They had found documentation on the ritual, and it contained no clue about Fenris' unstable markings. He had given everything to Claudius in exchange for a promise of aid, but Claudius was either unwilling or unable to keep that promise. It was up to Damian Hawke, and right now this was his last idea, his last hope. 

* * *

Feynriel arrived in the early afternoon, and Hawke led the younger mage to the library with several awkward knots in his stomach. He invited Feynriel to sit down, but the mage declined and Damian felt too tense to relax in a chair, so they both remained standing.

"Okay," Damiam breathed. "Tell me what to do."

Feynriel eyed him carefully. "Are you absolutely sure about this?" he asked. "This really is not the same as ordinary magic. It is more powerful, but also more difficult to control. It will change your magic permanently. Once you start using it, there is no undoing it. You'll be a blood mage for the rest of your life, even if you don't actively practice blood magic."

The solemn warning sent a shiver down Damian's spine. Father had always urged him to never turn to the forbidden arts, to not give in to temptation and allow his magic to be tainted. But what good would it do to keep his magic clean and pure if it meant that he could not save Fenris? Would that not be an even greater stain on his conscience, on his very soul? If there was anything within his power that he could do to stabilize Fenris' markings, he had to do it.

His determination hardening, Damian gave Feynriel a nod. "I'm sure. Let's do this."

If Feynriel was somehow disappointed that Hawke had not changed his mind, he did not show it. "You... well, you obviously need a knife to make a cut."

Hawke took the old knife that he had already had in his possession since before he fled Ferelden from his belt. He had kept it in good condition and despite its age it was still sharp.

"Just cut in your hand," Feynriel instructed him. "Not too deep - there is no need to damage muscles and tendons - but enough to let blood flow. When you've made the cut, you will have to focus on the blood and what it carries. It may take some time to feel it, but eventually you should sense the power in your blood. Then you can try to cast a spell with that power. A simple elemental spell like fire will do for now. The important thing is that you learn how to cast a spell with blood. If you can do that, everything else will follow. That's all there really is to it," he concluded awkwardly.

Hawke nodded. "Got it."

Slowly he raised his left hand and held the knife against the palm. The blade's sharp edge softly bit in the skin, waiting for more pressure to be applied. Damian inhaled deeply, preparing himself for the sting of pain. When he let the air flow from his lungs again, he suddenly had the feeling Father was standing right behind, looking over his shoulder to watch what he was doing and offer guidance if necessary, like he had done so often during Damian's lessons in magic. He could picture Malcolm Hawke's bearded face, eyebrows sternly lowered, but the light brown eyes underneath caring and concerned. _"Magic will serve that which is best in me. Not that which is most base."_

Damian Hawke looked down at his hands and, to his surprise, saw that they were trembling. With another deep breath he closed his eyes. _I'm sorry, Father. There's nothing left in me._ _It's all dead. They're all dead._ He pressed down with the knife and hissed as the skin split open under the pressure.

Hawke opened his eyes to examine the cut that he had just made. Blood already welled up from it, the dark red clearly contrasting with his fair skin. He had to reign in his magic at the sight, his mana instinctively readying to heal the damage he had caused. For years he had been healing the wounds of himself and his companions. This was the first time he had purposefully injured himself. It conflicted with nearly a decade of training and dedication, and everything in him seemed to protest at this desecration.

After some struggling, Damian managed to suppress the reflexive use of his healing magic. Remembering Feynriel's instructions, he tried to sense the promised power in his blood. He felt nothing. The sharp sting of pain dulled into an unpleasant throb while he stared intently at the cut in the palm of his hand, waiting for something to happen, for that moment where everything would fall into place.

Still nothing.

Damian narrowed his eyes to slits, doubling his efforts. He pushed everything in his mind away, to the farthest corners of his consciousness. His concerns about Fenris, the feeling of guilt which was always nagging were forgotten. He blocked his senses, ignored his surroundings. Feynriel, the books on the shelves, the table and the chairs, they had all disappeared as far as Damian was concerned. He was the only being that existed at the moment, he with that cut in his hand.

At last he smothered the flame of his mana, that warm core inside him from which his magic flowed. It was distracting him, tried to get in the way, still wanted to protect him from harm, but eventually it surrendered and dimmed.

And then he began to feel it: Damian became aware of something flowing out of him with every heartbeat. It was so small that it was almost undetectable, but now he had spotted it, it became more clear. Hawke focused on the sensation of all those tiny specks in his bloodstream until he could also sense the connection between them and realized they formed a whole. He did not fully understand it, but he could feel the power of it now, the power that flowed in his blood.

Determined to see it through, Damian's mind followed the stream of power back to the wound in his hand, where the mysterious energy had a way out of his body. There he pulled and kneaded to force the power into the desired form, like he ordinarily did with his mana - the energy from the Fade. Immediately a burning sensation spread from his heart through his arm and to his hand. It felt like every vein between his left hand and his heart was suddenly on fire. A pained cry escaped Hawke and he doubled over, pressing his painful arm against his stomach. The crystals of the ice spell he had tried to cast evaporated in the warm air of the library. "B... bloody Void, that hurts!" he cried out to Feynriel. "You could have warned me about that!"

Feynriel rubbed the back of his neck. "The first few times are the most uncomfortable," he said. "After that it will get better. I've heard that it can differ per person how unpleasant it is."

"Oh, just my luck then," Damian panted. He straightened his back and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. "I would not classify this under "uncomfortable" or "unpleasant". That was right up there with being stabbed in the gut by the Arishok." He considered for a moment. "Alright, being stabbed by the Arishok hurt more."

"If it hurts too much, there is another way to use blood magic..."

"What?" Hawke stared at Feynriel. "You mean that that torture was unnecessary? Why didn't you say that to begin with?"

When the fair-haired mage did not immediately answer, Damian followed his eyes to a corner of the room. It still took him a moment to spot the slave. "Oh," he said. "Oh, no." He vehemently shook his head, even took a step back. "No. In that case... never mind."

He had not even known she had been there. Had she been standing there all this time? Had he had his first lesson in blood magic in front of her? He thought he saw her tense shoulders relax in relief at his refusal.

Feynriel looked somewhat relieved. "Then you'll have to get through the first few painful times. Do you want to try it again?"


	33. Chapter 33

Despite the "discomfort" associated with it, Hawke persisted in his training in blood magic that day. By the end of the afternoon he was able to cast all his regular spells using his own blood. The area from his heart to his hand burned on the inside as if he had poured hot water in his veins and Damian could feel a grueling headache coming up behind his eyes, but nonetheless the casting itself had started to become easier and less painful. Once he was able to recognize the power that flowed through his veins it was impossible to miss or forget. It was everywhere in him, quietly whispering, longing to be used. The strength of it was remarkable: only a few drops of blood were enough to cast a fireball. Strange how something so powerful could stay unnoticed for so long.

Once Hawke was able to maintain his concentration through the pain blood magic caused him they had moved outside for safer target practice. Burning down the library - and possibly the rest of the house along with it - had not seemed like a very good idea. The sky was already darkening and Damian longed for a break, but at the same time he did not want to stop before he was absolutely certain that he had complete control over this new form of magic. The basic spells were no longer a problem, but there was something... perhaps it was simply the pain, combined with the memories of all the people who had told him over and over again how wicked blood magic was, but there was a dark undercurrent to this magic. He did not really understand it, even though he was able to cast spells with it. Somehow it did not feel completely natural. Despite the power he now wielded, Damian felt stained by its use. He doubted the reliability of blood magic too. His mana was always there and unless he had completely drained himself, he could count on it to do what he wanted and needed it to do. Would blood magic be the same? Was there a limit, like with his mana? Was that limit simply determined by the amount of blood in his body? And what was it that made it so incredibly powerful, that a few drops of blood sufficed for most spells? When Hawke focused on his spells all those questions disappeared to the background, but as soon as he took a moment to breathe they came rushing back, annoyingly bouncing on his developing headache until his head felt like it was about to burst. Despite telling himself that none of it mattered, that he should not care about any of it, the questions kept dogging him.

He knew he would not get satisfactory answers from Feynriel. Something about Feynriel's instructions told Hawke that he did not fully understand what they were dealing with either. Sure, he knew how to find and awaken that dormant power in his blood and use it for his magic, but could that really be all there was to it?

Worrying was not going to help anything. The decision had been made, as had the cut in his hand. He would have to deal with it. _What's left to stain anyway?_

Realizing that Hawke was not about to call an end to their training, Feynriel eventually announced that it had been enough for today. "It looks like you know all you need to."

Damian Hawke stared at the ugly gash in his hand. Hours of blood magic had made the cut's edges rough and sensitive, interfering with both natural and magical healing processes. Trails of drying blood ran along the rest of his hand and his arm till his rolled up sleeve. The sight made him feel a little squeamish. The irony made him want to laugh, but he had no energy for it. _A blood mage who is not very fond of blood. Especially his own._

In an attempt to distract himself he closed his injured hand into a fist and lowered it to his side. The fresh, sharp pain helped him forget all those pointless questions and concerns. His head a bit more clear, Damian asked the only question that actually mattered. "What about the spell I need? The one to contact Danarius?"

"I'll bring what I've found on the subject tomorrow," Feynriel replied. "If you're asking if you will be able to cast it... I don't see why not. After the first few tries everything went well. How is the pain now?"

Damian stretched his sticky fingers briefly before closing them into a fist once more. Warm blood dripped between them now he had disturbed the cut again. "I'll get used to it."

Feynriel glanced around. "It has gotten dark already. I think it's time for me to leave. Oh, I almost forgot! Claudius told me to invite you. He is holding another... intimate event tonight."

Hawke shook his head. "I am in no mood for parties, Feynriel. Claudius will have to find someone else to mock this evening."

"Come on. He was rather insistent about it. He is concerned that you believe he is not keeping his promise and is not trying to help you. He wants to make sure you and him are still on good terms."

"We will be on good terms once he does something useful," Damian grumbled.

"He is working on it," Feynriel insisted. "You need to eat anyway and can probably use a little distraction."'

With his clean, unscathed hand Damian pushed a strand of hair out of his face, then proceeded to rub his chin. "Fenris is in no condition to attend... I'd rather not leave him."

Feynriel smiled faintly. "He never really seemed to enjoy himself anyway," he said. "I doubt he will mind if he doesn't have to come with you this time. But you should get out of this house again, even if it's only for an evening. Fenris will still be here when you get back."

 _I suppose there's no arguing_ that. Again he considered to laugh, just because of how Feynriel could not suspect how awfully true his words were, but one of the first effects of practicing blood magic appeared to be that it was bad for your sense of humor.

Damian continued to hesitate a bit longer. He really was in no mood to play nice with Claudius and his colleagues. His head, his hand, arm and heart all hurt. In one afternoon he had discarded years of living by not only his own beliefs of what was right and wrong, but also the beliefs of his father and other people dear to him. Giving all that up was not as easy as he wanted it to be. Perhaps some distraction would be welcome, but was a room full of magisters the type of distraction to prefer?

Hawke dropped his hand to his side. The time that preferences mattered was long past. Even at this stage he could not afford it to anger Claudius, or even irritate him. It was probably better to be even more careful from now on. Like everywhere else, open use of blood magic was forbidden in the Imperium, and Damian did not doubt that the magisters would have him arrested for it if that happened to be convenient for them. He nodded to Feynriel. "I'll go with you. Give me a moment to get cleaned up." 

* * *

The other guests were about to start with dinner when Hawke and Feynriel arrived. Claudius greeted them enthusiastically and they were immediately directed to their places. To Damian's displeasure he ended up next to Macarius, the crazy magister with the strange deformities. Having to sit next to someone who had ended up horribly disfigured due to his experiments with blood magic was not exactly a useful distraction for getting his mind off of today's practice. Claudius shrugged apologetically before returning to his seat, but Damian was not convinced that the magister was truly sorry about this arrangement.

His already dark mood dampening even further, Damian decided to focus on his food and leave as soon as possible.

Glancing around the table while the numerous dishes were being served by lithe and graceful slaves made it apparent that this gathering was one of the most private so far. Only a handful of magisters and their apprentices were present. Damian wondered why Claudius would still bother to invite Macarius, who appeared to be unpopular among everyone else. Avoiding conflict when it came to the larger parties he could understand, but for something as small as this? Was everybody so intimidated by this ugly old man? Was he such a powerful mage? He certainly did not look like it while he eagerly started on his meal. Bits of food and small streams of wine soon stained his chin because the left side of his bottom lip sometimes refused to press properly against the upper one when he closed his mouth to chew. It did not seem to bother him, judged by the smacking and slurping sounds he was making.

Disgusted, Hawke turned his head away. Because he was seated at the edge of the table there was nobody sitting on his other side. The only female magister sat across from him, but she emphatically avoided looking in his direction or otherwise acknowledge his existence. More to have something to do than because he was feeling hungry Hawke took a few bites of the exotic salad which had been placed in front of him. It was delicious - just as everything else that had ever been served under Claudius' roof - but he was unable to enjoy the good food as much as usual.

He had hoped that Fenris' absence would help him relax a bit more. Not having to keep an eye on him constantly to stop him if he decided to throttle a magister was certainly a relief, but it also drew attention to his loneliness and isolation. Damian Hawke had felt a similar way during all those parties the nobles of Kirkwall had invited him to after he had become Champion.

Initially they had been grateful, but as the memories of the Qunari invasion faded their gratitude had faded with it, until all that had been left was an interesting mixture of fear, contempt and grudging respect. It was that fear that had made them invite him and continue to treat him as an honored guest even after years had passed since the attack, but that fear had also caused conversations to come to an unsubtle end whenever he approached and watchful eyes to follow him around the room.

Young, bored noblewomen sensing the potential excitement of something forbidden and scandalous had maintained their interest a while longer, and Hawke had tried to play along a few times, to see if there was a way to force that one, stubborn, impossible person from his mind, to test whether a soft, voluptuous creature surrounded by the scent of roses could awaken something inside him after all, but hands on hips, a peck on the lips and he had lost interest. Soft, easy, smiles, round, tender - it had not worked. It had not been enough to forget hard, difficult, smoldering looks, edges, rough. It could not mak him stop longing for that. When the interest of the nobles' daughters had withered as well, Hawke had stopped attending the parties altogether. Here in Minrathous nobody was afraid of him - or at least the magisters were not, the people in whose company he was now. The complete absence of fear was liberating. Everyone sitting at this table had magic, and they were proud of it. But he was still an outsider. A foreigner who had barged into their city and demanded aid for his problem. There was no trust here either, on neither side, and now that the initial unrest he had caused by defeating Gaius in a duel had died away like the excitement after the Qunari invasion, it was not replaced by fear but disinterest.

Damian could not help but wonder what it would be like to be accepted here, to be seen and treated as an equal. Even within his family magic had been reason for conflict and struggles. Bethany had believed their magic to be a curse, and Carver had been inclined to agree. His own conviction that there would always come a day that they would have to pick up and leave again to avoid capture had led him to avoid contact with others throughout his childhood and teenage years. What a difference it could have made to grow up in a place where magic was not seen as a burden!

Hawke shook his head and started on his second course. _Wishful thinking._ He had not come here to be accepted into the magisters' cozy club, _which_ , he thought glancing at Macarius, _was probably for the better._

As dinner progressed Damian found himself more and more often distracted by his crystal wineglass. He kept catching himself staring at the dark liquid contained within, forgetting about his food and the rest of his surroundings. How come he had never noticed before that wine had the exact same color as blood? Was it just Tevinter wine? Had he never paid attention to what blood looked like? No, that made no sense. He was a healer; he had looked at countless injuries before, and - to be fair - he was also a killer and had reduced numerous darkspawn, bandits, spiders and angry mages who had insisted on attacking him to a bloody pulp. By now he was very familiar with the color of blood. And yet there was something fascinating about this wine, this blood-red fluid. It awakened recent memories of uncovered power, of spells and magic of almost unimaginable potency. Promises of endless possibilities flowed through his veins, singing a seductive tune which no ear could hear but rang clearly in his head nonetheless. Awakened from slumber, the power in his blood refused to be silenced again. It demanded attention, begged for release. The cut in the palm of his left hand throbbed painfully in the rhythm of his heartbeat, an extra reminder of what he had done and could do. While he took a sip from the wine, using the stem of the glass to hide it as much as possible, Hawke glanced at the gash. He had not tried to heal it yet. Partly because blood magic appeared to have changed something about the wound and he was uncertain whether his healing magic would still work correctly, and partly because... why bother? He would have to cut again tomorrow. Somehow it seemed less bad to do so in damaged skin. Maybe the pain would be more bearable then as well. Going from unscathed and feeling perfectly fine to an open wound and sharp pain seemed worse than simply renewing and deepening already existing pain.

Damian stared at his glass again. He blinked, realizing that it was now empty, and put it back on the table. A few seconds later a slave appeared behind him and wordlessly poured more wine for him. Hawke lifted the glass again and took a deep gulp. It tasted nothing like blood he noted. Velvety, with a hint of ironbark. The magisters could probably afford wine barrels made of that rare wood type. _"All Tevinter wine is made from the blood and tears of slaves."_

His lips curled into a smile around the glass. _At least it doesn't taste like that, Fenris._  

* * *

Two hours later most of the guests were satiated. A few got up from their chairs and wandered to the other side of the table to chat with others who had been sitting a bit farther away. Hawke pushed his chair back to go talk to Feynriel when a high, breathy voice sounded from his right. "Are all foreigners so rude?"

Damian froze in his seat. Slowly he turned his head to Macarius. "Excuse me?"

The magister wiped his chin with a napkin and tossed it back on the table. "Go ahead and run to the pretty faces. Don't you know," his colorless eyes pinned Hawke in his spot, "that true ugliness hides on the inside?"

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Hawke said casually. "But sometimes it is clearly visible on both sides." He rose from his chair.

Macarius giggled, his head bopping up and down gleefully in the rhythm of his wheezing breaths. "Your naivety is funny, little champion. So quick to trust the smooth faces, the flawless skin. And the hair! Of course, those soft, flowing locks! You see all that, and you believe the lie, failing to realize that the only person who will eventually go to the Maker's side is sitting right next to you."

Hawke let himself fall back in his chair. His intention to get away from this pitiful human being as quickly as possible evaporated at that last proudly announced delusion. "Are you claiming that you are a better person than everyone else in this room?" he asked incredulously. This man had experimented with things that had made even his colleagues turn away from him! How could someone who was shunned by magisters genuinely believe that he was a good person? "So... you do not own any slaves? You have not performed crazy experiments on people?"

Macarius snorted. "Slaves! Pah! They are meaningless in the greater scheme of things. A necessity I'm sure the Maker will understand. Such trivialities are not what defines good and evil."

"Then I'd love to hear what does."

A clawed finger, stained with those mysterious blue discolorings  that decorated Macarius' skin was waved in front of his face. "Your attempts at mockery ring hollow in your ignorance, little champion. I suggest you find some more respect in that empty head of yours, considering you are talking to the only person here whose soul is still intact."

Hawke's chuckle died away before it had truly begun. Macarius looked completely serious and far less insane than he had initially assumed. A little voice inside his head told Damian to get up and walk away, that he did not want to hear what this deformed figure had to say, that he would be better off not knowing. But Macarius mentioning his soul had him intrigued, and his curiosity and the uneasiness Macarius brought about in him kept Hawke in his seat.

"Your soul is still intact? I don't understand. What are you talking about?" he asked softly.

"The forbidden arts of malifecarum of course."

Hawke's forehead wrinkled while he tried to discern Macarius' meaning. A suspicion, a terrible, chilling idea daunted on him, an answer to the questions he had asked himself earlier.  An answer he had suspected, deep down, but in no way wanted to hear confirmed. Clutching the table's edge with both hands, he swallowed thickly and looked at Macarius, whose eyes had not left Hawke's face. He knew he had to ask, that now that he had this suspicion it was too late to wish for ignorance. "Are you... saying that... blood magic uses your soul as fuel for spells?"

A smile broke through on Macarius' wrinkled face and showed several missing teeth. The small blue crystals protruding from his skull sparkled in the light of the chandelier hanging above their heads. The magister leaned forward and placed a frail-looking hand on Damian's arm. His voice suddenly far less high, he hissed: "It hurts, doesn't it? To have your soul ripped from you bit by bit. Or so I imagine. After all _I_ have never tried it." The high-pitched giggle returned.

The confirmation he had feared and had known was coming. Hawke's hands squeezed with all their might, his knuckles whitening. He knew there was no escape, no way to deny this, but still his mind refused to accept it. It raced around in helpless circles, trying to come up with reasons why it could not be so, explanations that could work just as well. "But... that..."

The pressure of Macarius' fingers increased subtly. Hawke could feel one of the crystals press against his arm. "... makes an awful lot of sense?" Macarius finished Damian's sentence. "... is a terribly unhealthy thing to practice? I agree!"

The wound in Hawke's hand had reopened and started bleeding again. "But how? How is that possible?" he asked weakly. "How can it use your soul?"

"Soul. Life energy. Life force. It doesn't matter what you want to call it. There is something that keeps your heart beating within your chest, has your lungs work for air. It is the Maker's gift of life. He has given us life and magic. When you seek to expand the boundaries of either you might succeed, but there will be a price. You can't move beyond the limits He has created in His wisdom without severe consequences. The Maker cannot be fooled. So if you are not content with your natural amount of magic... you will have to use your life. That's why it has to be cast with blood, and not with piss." The old, disfigured magister proceeded to giggle for a full minute at his own joke.

Quentin, Tarohne, Decimus, Grace, Gascard, Evelina, Huon, Orsino. The list of mages he had fought because blood magic had pushed them over the edge of reason marched through Damian's head. Was this the reason they had lost control? Because they had consumed their soul, sacrificed it for power? "Is that why it is claimed that blood magic corrupts?"

"Not "claimed"," Macarius corrected him. "That's why it corrupts. How much can you use before it's too much? I have no idea, but it is safer not to try. Perhaps it depends on the person. Perhaps some have greater souls than others? Perhaps some need less to function? Or no soul at all? Who knows?"

 _Who knew?_ Damian Hawke slowly released his hold on the table and turned his injured hand around to look at the cut. He knew trying to hide it from the magister was pointless, that Macarius was far more perceptive than he had given him credit for and had already guessed it. Or simply knew.

His blood had left a stain on Claudius' previously spotless white tablecloth. The fresh blood on the palm of his hand glistened in the candlelight. It would explain why so little blood was needed to cast ordinary spells. What power in the world could be greater than life itself? A conflict with his healing magic seemed inevitable now as well. Healing stemmed from the school of creation, and how could he possibly create anything with a power that was born from destruction?

He looked back up at Macarius, his brow furrowed by a new question. "What about those... stains on your skin? The crystals... it must have something to do with magic. Fey- somebody told me that they were the result of experiments with blood magic."

The hand on his arm was pulled back. Macarius scowled, his head moving up and down angrily. "The slander of those miserable worms! Accusing me of their own crimes! This is not the effect of blood magic. No, oh no. This," he raised his hand, showing the stained skin, the blue nails and the clawed fingers, "this is a consequence of the large quantity of lyrium potions I am forced to consume to be able to compete with my dear colleagues."

Of course. Damian knew of the danger of getting addicted to lyrium potions, but that it could affect the body this much he would not have guessed. A few addicted apostates with blue spots on their hands had visited Anders' clinic over the years, but Damian had never seen anything this extreme. The amount of potions Macarius had used throughout his life to cause this degree of disfigurement had to be immense.

Damian glanced around the table, at all the "smooth faces" and "flawless skin" as Macarius had described it. Nobody showed any sign of the discoloring or deformities the magister next to him suffered. "So they all use it then? Everybody except you?"

A grave nod was his only reply.

Hawke leaned closer to Macarius. "And you haven't warned them? They don't know of the danger of what they are doing to themselves?"

Despite the lack of color of Macarius' eyes they still managed to flash darkly. "Oh, they know," he said, his voice once again much lower than usual. "Only a fool does not question the price of his actions. Do you think I am the first to know? I am not, nor will I be the last. Deep down they all know. They must."

"But you have not warned them?"

Another nod. "I have." Macarius paused, then added: "That's when the assassins came."

Hawke leaned back in his chair. _They don't want to be reminded of it. I don't blame them._ The moment he had tried to cast his first spell with blood and had felt the searing pain, he had known that it was wrong, that this was something that should never be practiced. He had pushed those thoughts away, had stomped on them with determination, because there was no room for doubts in his mind. Because there was no other option. He had tried to ignore the true meaning of the pain, but he had sensed the darkness of it.

Next to him Macarius started giggling again. "I brought their intestines to the next gathering of the Senate," he squeaked. "Oh, the look on their faces!"

"I need another drink," Hawke muttered to himself. Quickly he raised his refilled glass and drank all the blood and tears of slaves in it.


	34. Chapter 34

When all the guests rose from their seats Damian Hawke did the same - albeit a little more unsteadily - thinking this was the perfect moment to leave, but before he had located his host, Claudius had approached him from behind, taken him by the arm and guided him a few paces away from Macarius. "There you are, my dear friend. We have not had time to speak yet. Apologies for putting you next to that nutty old goat. I had no lounger counted on your arrival."

Hawke made a halfhearted attempt to pry free from Claudius' firm grip. "It was no problem," he mumbled. "Thank you for inviting me. I think I'll return home now."

"Oh, please stay a while longer. The night is still young, and I feel I have to make up for having you sit next to Macarius throughout your dinner. Honestly, the thought turns the stomach. "

Hawke shook his head, flinching at how that made his headache even worse. "It's okay. I am really not in the mood to..."

Claudius still refused to let him go. "Are you mad at me, my friend? I assure you I am working on your issue and I feel I am close to a breakthrough."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Danarius was a clever old man, but we will manage to outsmart him yet! Now, come and let me ensure that I have not ruined your entire evening. Everybody, if you would please follow me!"

Giving up on resisting and trying to leave, Hawke followed Claudius and the other guests through the halls of the mansion. The tour roused his curiosity; he did not recall ever having been in this part of Claudius' home before.

Their destination turned out to be a medium-sized - to magisters' standards - room with a shallow pool in the center. On the left side two slaves immediately began to play a peaceful melody on their instruments: a harp and a flute. On the other side of the room stood a group of scantily-clad slaves lined up.

Claudius gestured invitingly to the row of slaves and then to the comfortable benches with soft pillows which had been placed around the pool. "Feel free to inspect them before you decide and make yourself comfortable," he told them with a smile.

Magisters and apprentices sauntered past the slaves, giving them appraising looks and occasionally lifting a hand to run their fingers across naked flesh. When a decision had been made a brief command was barked - usually a curt "you!" - or a hand gesture was made and the chosen slave followed the magister or apprentice until they found a place to sit.

Noticing Hawke's hesitance, Claudius gently grasped his arm again and led him to one of the remaining benches. Their footsteps echoed on the dark yellow marble tiles. "You look like you can use some help to relax. Let's see... you like elves, do you not?"

Damian stared at the magister in helpless confusion. "I.."

Claudius did not give him the chance to say something. A snap of his fingers interrupted any additional stuttering Hawke might have managed. "Iodrel! Come here."

One of the slaves who had still been standing near the edge of the pool left his spot and came walking toward them with graceful steps. As he approached, Claudius pushed down on Hawke's shoulder to make him sit down.

By the time Damian had recovered from unexpectedly being forced to sit like a disobedient child the slave had already reached them. He bowed for Claudius, his blond head submissively lowered. Apart from short breeches which did not reach till his knees, he was completely naked. "Master."

In the silence that followed Damian shifted uncomfortably in his seat under the expectant looks of Claudius and the slave Iodrel. "No, thank you," he eventually managed dryly.

He had expected Claudius to insist and try to persuade him, but the dark-haired magister just shrugged, pointed to Iodrel and then the ground and walked to the bench next to Hawke's.

The slave kneeled supplely and nestled between Hawke's legs, almost like a pet. His blond hair was very light and had been cut short in the style that was currently in fashion in Tevinter. His skin was slightly tanned, but not from the sun. Hawke guessed that he or his parents originally hailed from Antiva. A brief look up revealed large, dark green eyes and delicate, slightly feminine features not uncommon for elves. The slave quickly cast his eyes down again when he met Hawke's gaze. In an attempt to create a little more distance between himself and the slave on the floor Damian leaned back and spread his legs a bit wider, but his movements were limited by the robes he was wearing.

What was he supposed to do now? Glancing around the room was sufficient to inform him of how everybody else intended to spend their time, but Hawke would prefer to keep his clothes on. Maybe he should just leave. If only his head did not hurt so much; it might have been easier then to come up with a decent excuse that would not sound completely ridiculous and insulting in Claudius' ears. His eyes searched for Feynriel for help, but when Damian spotted him across the room Feynriel turned out to be occupied by a red-headed human woman. She was straddling his lap and at the moment appeared busy kissing his ear.

_I need to leave. It's not like they will miss my presence here._

He was still trying to muster the strength and coordination required to get up from his awkward position when an unexpected sensation chased that line of reasoning away and made his breath hitch in his throat. Startled, Damian looked down at the slave between his legs. Iodrel was still on his knees, his face hidden because he kept his head lowered and his eyes on the floor, but one of his hands had snuck under Hawke's robes and was now caressing his calf with long, delicate fingers. Despite the apparent innocence of the touch, Damian could barely suppress the shudders it sent through him. It seemed ages ago since somebody had touched him in such a gentle manner. He could not remember the last time he had experienced a simple caress.

He still had to leave. He was not supposed to be here, not supposed to sit like this. He was not one of the magisters, not like the people sitting and lying on the other benches. He did not belong here. He tried to pull away, but the slave's hand ran up and down the back of his leg and Hawke could feel blood gathering in his groin.

Encouraged by the lack of resistance the slave let his hand travel farther, moving up to his inner thigh, still gently stroking, the weight of the caress varying between light and hardly noticeable.

Damian looked around the room again, his resolve crumbling. Was this what it could have been like? Was this the sort of life he could have had if he had been born in Tevinter? Freedom, not only in the use of his magic but also in other aspects of life? Taking what he wanted, no restrictions? Desire fulfilled without shame, magic without regret? The awakened power in his blood agreed, quietly encouraging to accept what he deserved and let it flow again. It did not use words. It was nothing like the more obvious, straightforward demons' attempts to influence their victim. Instead it was a part of him, a need that had to be tended to. An itch that had to be scratched, a bladder that needed to be emptied.

Without making a sound the slave pushed his robes up a bit and slipped his head underneath. A hot, moist kiss was planted just above his knee, on the inside of his leg where the skin had already been teased into oversensitivity by the slave's fingers. When the full lips were joined by a tongue, carefully drawing small circles and suckling on his flesh, Hawke's eyelids dropped in bliss. His member hardened fully as that mouth and tongue traveled in joined union higher up his leg, following the path of those talented fingers. He grunted softly, the sound mingling with the moans and panting noises that resounded in the room.

He could imagine that it was Fenris sitting there. That everything was well again, no unstable markings or frustrated arguments about who was in the right this time. The love between them all that still mattered, ridden by that burning desire he could never seem to shake. It could be so perfect. Finally reunited, this time for good. He wanted to believe that, live in that lie only for a moment.

Damian peeked through his eyelids at the slave. The illusion was not flawless. The hair was light, but clearly not white. Although the elf's eyes were green they were the wrong shade, and the chin was slightly too pointy, the cheekbones a bit too high. The hands, though unarguably wonderful in their touch, were smooth and soft, whereas Fenris' hands were rough and calloused after years of wielding a sword. The fingertips knew how to make his skin tingle, but they lacked the accent of lyrium that made even the simplest and briefest touch special, charged with magical energy without resembling the touch of a mage. It was not Fenris, but what if...

... but what if it had been Fenris? Hawke's eyes flew open. Fenris used to be a slave of a magister. A magister who had undoubtedly hosted parties just like this one. Had Fenris once stood among the other slaves, lined up like cattle on a market day? Poked, prodded and squeezed to judge his desirability? Had he been forced to follow the person who had chosen him and get down on his knees in front of them? Had he... _"The lad is rather skilled, isn't he?"_

Damian's stomach turned. He retched, his arousal wilting as fast as his cock. The reminder of the other side of this party, the side of the slaves who had no choice but to obey made him feel sick.

"I... I need to go." No longer concerned with politeness he hurriedly got on his feet. In his haste he tripped over the slave who had been sitting between his legs, but Hawke did not take the time to regain his balance and simply stumbled onwards. In a straight line he stormed toward the exit, through the pool. The water only reached till his ankles, but by the time he reached the other side his boots and the lower part of his robes were soaked. He was unaware of the dumbfounded stares the others gave him - slaves and magisters alike - but he thought he heard someone giggle as he flew around the corner and fled from the mansion.

* * *

Damian Hawke had just made it outside when his stomach turned once again and he was forced to halt to throw up the seven or eight courses of Claudius' dinner. Wheezing, Damian straightened and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. How close he had been to... The thought filled him with disgust. Remnants of the caress of the slave lingered on his inner thigh, nauseating him as if it was Macarius who had touched him there rather than an attractive elf. Snapped out of the haze which alcohol, his blood magic and the general atmosphere that had hung in that room had created, he could no longer understand how he could ever have considered giving in to his desire - no, how he could ever have felt desire to begin with. Was blood magic to blame? Was this the first effect of messing with his soul? Or had he always been this rotten without realizing it?

He did not want to think about it. None of the answers would be reassuring. He had gotten answers to his questions about blood magic and what it would be like to live as one of the magisters, and not knowing had turned out to be preferable. No more answers. No more questions. All he wanted, all he needed now was the only person on his mind. Even if that person would not offer the comfort he longed for. 

* * *

He practically ran the way back to his mansion. The muscles in his legs had soured and he was out of breath when he could finally open the front door and step inside. Hawke immediately made his way up the stairs and through the corridors that lead to the bedroom he had not slept in in weeks. The two slaves looked up in surprise as he burst into the room, his boots and the edge of his robes drenched and his face pale. Damian did not look at them, not able to tear his gaze away from the bed. "Leave us."

The slaves obeyed and quickly left, closing the door behind them. His eyes fixated on the bed and the figure lying on it, a small, pained moan escaped from his mouth. _Fenris._

Damian took the last few steps to reach the sleeping man and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Oh, Fenris."

The markings glowed in the darkness, spreading a sickly blue light. Once Hawke had found those markings beautiful. They had been mysterious and exotic and had made Fenris stand out in a way his naturally handsome face could never have achieved. Now he hated them, despised them as he watched helplessly how their hold on Fenris strengthened ever more. "I'm sorry, Fenris," he whispered in a choked voice. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... I didn't know. I had no idea."

Noticing the beads of sweat that covered Fenris' face and chest despite the cool temperature of the room, Damian leaned over him, placed his hands on both sides of Fenris' head, palms against his cheeks, and sent a subtle wave of ice magic through the markings to help his body cool down.

"I'm sorry," he breathed once more.

Perhaps it was because of the use of magic, or perhaps it was simply because Fenris had not woken up yet that day, but to Damian's surprise he saw the elf's eyelids flutter and then slowly open. 

* * *

There had once been a time when those hands had set his body on fire, spreading their wonderful and terrifying heat wherever they touched him, leaving him weak with desire. Now a welcome cooling sensation flowed from them, offering some relief to his exhausted body. Fenris let the magic travel through him, grateful for its unexpected presence. His head cleared a little, and he felt himself drifting closer to the surface of consciousness. But while his mind wrestled itself free from the hold of the Fade, a feeling of dread descended over him. Something was wrong. Something had changed. There was something not right with the feeling of those hands against his face.

Still slightly drowsy, Fenris opened his eyes and turned his head to find the reason for his sudden suspicion. 

* * *

 

Damian Hawke realized his mistake as soon as Fenris' eyes opened and his head turned to the left, but it was already too late. He watched Fenris' eyes widen, then narrow in disgust as they looked back at him. "Blood magic."

He had not healed the cut in his hand.

Before Hawke could react, Fenris bellowed a wordless, primal scream and veered up, hitting the mage on the nose with his forehead. Though Fenris' muscle power was not what it used to be after so many hours of inactivity, the headbutt still hit his nose with enough force for it to hurt. Damian could feel how it started bleeding while he rolled off the bed to get out of Fenris' reach.

A second attack was hampered by the sheets. The slaves had tucked Fenris in with extreme care, so that the sheets were strapped over his legs and middle. They could not have trapped him any more tightly if they had used a rope to bind him to the bed.

Hawke scrambled backwards to get out of reach. Blood streamed out of his nose and into his mouth. The taste made his upset stomach protest again, and he gagged.

The brief moment of respite was barely enough to create some distance between them. As soon as Fenris had freed his legs from the sheets he launched himself at Hawke, only to be yanked back by the chain at the last moment.

A new, dark instinct inside him urged Damian to be released, to make him defend himself. He could sense the connection his bleeding nose offered to that great power and how it waited for him to use it. The blood in his mouth and on his lips further increased the intensity of the need, till all his senses were screaming that he had to do something and that this, this, this, THIS was the only way.

Damian did his best to hold in the urge, struggled to keep his magic in check. Fenris could not reach him. The chain had kept him back and now he was rubbing his bruised throat and catching his breath while glaring daggers at him. There was no need for magic. Hawke spat out the blood that had collected in his mouth to get rid of the taste and stood up straight. Next to the bed, Fenris did the same.

"Blood magic!" The two words were bitter with contempt.

Hawke said nothing, instead pressing his sleeve against his nose to stem the bleeding. He noticed how Fenris was already seeking support against the wall.

"Maleficar! You betrayed me. Deceived me."

"It's the only way. I'm doing this for you," Damian protested, knowing beforehand that Fenris would never accept his explanation.

"Ha! Festis bei uno canavarum! You are just like the rest," Fenris sneered. "No better than the magisters."

"You..." Damian spat again, the salty taste of blood still clinging to his tongue. "You have no idea what I'm giving up for you." _"It hurts, doesn't it? To have your soul ripped from you bit by bit."_

Fenris slid down to the floor, his legs giving out from under him. What little energy he had had was drained by his outburst. His eyes threatened to close, but he forced them open for a last, condemnatory glare in which no hint of love could be found. "You're a monster."


	35. Chapter 35

As promised Feynriel visited again the next morning, carrying a leather-bound tome under one arm. Hawke did not go out to the large entrance hall to greet him, instead waiting in the library for a slave to escort Feynriel to him. He toyed with his old knife while he waited, spinning and turning it around with his healthy hand and occasionally digging the pointy tip in the table's surface. He was feeling restless and angry.

After Fenris had called him a monster, Damian had left the bedroom without another word. Nothing he could have said would have made a difference. Fenris was too lost in his own world, which had become increasingly small under the pressure of his sickness and the demons harassing his mind. The elf had looked like he was starting to lose consciousness after his last insult, so Hawke had not bothered.

He was not so certain that a defense would have come out of his mouth if he had stayed, because Fenris' words had not only hurt him, but had sparked anger as well. Fenris had said that he was just like the magisters. That came down to calling Damian similar to Danarius. Hawke gritted his teeth once again at the idea. Fenris had gone too far claiming such a thing. It was not fair. If he was truly no better than Danarius or anyone else who had been present in that dimly lit room the previous evening, why had he pulled away from the slave's touch? He might as well have gone through with it if it did not make a difference anyway, if it had already been decided that he was just as bad as Danarius. Was it not proof enough that he had scrubbed his leg until the flesh was raw to erase the memory of those fingers, of that sensual, warm mouth and tongue? That he still felt unclean, still thought the slave was there, between his legs whenever his robes brushed against his skin? It was revolting that he had almost given in, that his desire had overtaken him so completely, but was it not the final rejection that mattered? Did that act not set him apart from the magisters? From Danarius?

"Hello, Hawke."

Damian plopped the knife down, blade first, so it got rooted in the table's surface and remained upright, vibrating lightly. He glanced at Feynriel before his gaze returned to his knife and the damaged table. With a nod he acknowledged his guest's presence, but he did not rise from his seat. "Feynriel."

Feynriel approached the table and put the book he had brought with him down, a careful distance away from the knife. "I brought what you asked of me," he said timidly.

Another nod from Hawke. For a few heartbeats he considered whether he really should force this confrontation, but in the end he was sick and tired of the games people were playing around him. He had had enough of being manipulated.

"Did you know?" he asked Feynriel in a cold voice.

"Know what?" Feynriel sounded a little uncomfortable.

Hawke got up and now looked straight at the mage, his light blue eyes boring into the Feynriel's golden ones. "Did you know what Claudius' "intimate" party would entail when you insisted I had to come along?"

"If I had known how you would react, I would not have-"

"I asked if you knew."

Feynriel cast his eyes down. "I did."

"I see." Damian inhaled deeply and let his breath escape slowly to calm himself. "Please tell me what I need to know to do the spell and then leave."

Feynriel's head whipped up. "Hawke, I..."

"No! Whatever you have to say, I don't care! I have had enough of being toyed with and strung along for some obscure purpose. I thought at least you would not drag me into another one of Claudius' games, but clearly I was wrong."

"It was not a game," Feynriel tried to argue. "I genuinely thought you could use some distraction and a way to relax. We meant no harm."

"Ha!" Hawke threw his head back in a mock-laugh before taking two threatening strides toward Feynriel, exploiting his height difference with the half-elf. "You could have offered me a backrub if you cared so much. I don't recall ever saying I could really use a slave to suck me and that is what you set me up for. You took advantage of those first lessons in blood magic to... to... I don't know what the purpose behind it was, but I did not want it! I am still with Fenris, and I have no intention to be unfaithful to him."

Feynriel held up his hands in a plea for Hawke to calm down. "He was a slave, Hawke. It does not mean anything here! And it is definitely not considered cheating."

"Fenris used to be one of those slaves, Feynriel!" Damian shouted. "Maybe it's not cheating according to some fucked-up definition, but then it would still be something far, far worse. I... I can't even... it would be wrong! It was wrong! That whole party was wrong!"

Despite Hawke's intimidating form a few steps away from him, Feynriel held his ground. "You do realize that the people you are feeling sorry for now are the very same as those outside of the Imperium who want us to be locked up?"

For a moment Hawke only stared at the young man in front of him, wondering if he was serious. " _That_ 's your justification?" he eventually asked in disbelief. "It's all some kind of ridiculous competition? Oppress them before they oppress us? That is reason enough to condone slavery?"

"Please," Feynriel bit back. "Spare me the common self-righteousness. Everybody enjoys scolding Tevinter because slavery is allowed here, but all they prove is their own hypocrisy."

"Are you sure you are not the hypocrite here?" Damian remarked mockingly. "I seem to recall that I saved you from a life of slavery. Without me you would have ended up sucking Claudius' cock instead of studying as his apprentice. I take it you would not have minded that?"

A blush crept up from Feynriel's neck to his cheeks. "I am not saying that it is _right_. In a perfect world everybody would be equal and live their life as they wish, but as you probably know, the world is not perfect and there are rich and poor people everywhere. Judged from all the stories I have heard about your adventures in Kirkwall, I assume you ventured into Darktown more than once. Have not seen them there? All the refugees who sold themselves to make a living? They offered their body for a few coppers, just to have something to eat that day. Many ended up murdered in that cesspit. Slavery is judged because it takes away choice and free will, but how much choice did those people have? How many of those desperate prostitutes in Darktown - or even those in the Rose - would resort to that profession if they had a choice? What good did their "free will" do them? The slaves here are well-fed, dressed, enjoy proper hygiene and have a roof over their head. They don't have to worry about surviving the next day and live in security. So, in a way, I think they are better off than those poor souls without a home in Kirkwall. Can you really claim that the rest of Thedas is better than Tevinter based on your prejudices against slavery alone?"

There might be some truth to Feynriel's argument. Damian had resented being forced into indentured servitude for a year to be allowed entry into Kirkwall, but he knew very well that many of the other Fereldan refugees had been even more unlucky. There were indeed many who had not even made it into rundown Lowtown and had been forced to live in the filth and foul air of Darktown. He had seen them as he rushed by, unwilling to linger in those disgusting sewers: some of the people who had travelled to Kirkwall on the same ship as he and his family, slowly giving up on any dreams they might have had and reduced to numbed husks of their former selves, only concerned with making it through yet another miserable day. He did not envy them.

But even if Feynriel could formulate a valid point, Hawke was not interested in it. He would not allow himself to get sidetracked by another debate about morals. Whether or not Andraste had been a mage, whether or not slaves should get their freedom right this instant, whether all the people who had fled from the rebelling Circles should be accepted into Minrathous' Circle, Damian did not care. They could argue about it and reach a conclusion - or not - without his interference. What mattered here was that Feynriel had tricked him and exploited the aftereffects of having practiced blood magic for the first time. No cleverly phrased argument would erase that from Hawke's mind.

"It sounds like you're just making excuses, Feynriel," he said sharply. "I am not going to argue about the ethics of slavery with you. The point is that you set me up for one of Claudius' sneaky tricks while I was not feeling well and my head was still messed up from using blood magic. I am sick of people manipulating me! So just... just explain that bloody spell to me and get out."

Feynriel angled his head slightly, as if he had just heard something interesting. "Okay... and can you now tell me what the real reason is that you're so upset?"

Taken aback by this bold claim, Hawke scowled. "Well, how fortunate that you are here to read my mind. Till now I was convinced _that_ was exactly the reason why I am upset."

Feynriel took a step closer. "Claudius put you next to Macarius," he noted. "What has he said to you?"

"Claudius barely said a thing to me. At least nothing of actual meaning."

"I meant Macarius."

"And why would Macarius upset me? Because he's ugly? I have encountered darkspawn, so I survived that old magister without much trouble."

Feynriel now looked genuinely frustrated. "Because the man is completely insane! His ideas range from deluded to outright insanity. You can't take him seriously."

Hawke folded his arms in front of his chest. "I think Macarius is not half as crazy as some of the other magisters."

"So it's true then," Feynriel concluded more quietly. "He's said something to rile you. You should not believe anything that comes out of his mouth. The man is a monster! Nobody has tried to twist magic as much as he has, but he has convinced himself that he is the only good mage in the entire Imperium. His mind has been ruined by his own twisted experiments."

It was so tempting to believe. After all, who was to say which version was true? Feynriel or Macarius... who was more credible? Accepting the explanation of the one with the "smooth face" seemed more logical than the unstable, severely deformed magister, but Macarius' apt description of smooth skin and beautiful faces was exactly what kept Hawke from clinging to Feynriel's alternative point of view. Mad or not, deluded or not, the advice not to base trust solely on appearance was sound, especially in a place like Minrathous. More importantly, he could not deny the pain and darkness he had felt when casting with his blood. The ominous presence lingered, the urge to release it once more building steadily. He had activated something dangerous and destructive within himself which could not be covered with hopeful lies.

Hawke turned around and brusquely walked back to the table. "Will you tell me about the spell or not?"

Seemingly realizing that he was not going to win this, Feynriel came standing beside him and opened the tome on a page he had marked. "Over the centuries Tevinter mages have perfected their ways to enter the Fade. Old spells were more crude and often required all of somebody's life's blood, but nowadays they have found a clever way to combine the power of lyrium and blood to reduce the amount that is needed. This also means you can do the spell yourself and don't need another mage to send you into the Fade. That is the easy part, however. Summoning Danarius to your location will be more difficult and it's not guaranteed to work. Your chance of success will be greatest when you perform the spell where he died. The place where someone's soul enters the Fade permanently retains a stronger connection to that soul, which should make it easier to force Danarius to come to you."

Feynriel paused, apparently waiting for Hawke to react to what he had said, while Hawke waited for him to continue with his explanation. After a period of silence, Hawke looked away from the book and met Feynriel's expecting eyes. "What?" he asked in an irritated voice. "Was that supposed to be a serious suggestion? Danarius died in a seedy tavern with stale ale in Kirkwall. I can't travel all the way to the Free Marches to do that spell! It will take far too long, and Fenris is not fit for travel."

"You could go alone and let Fenris stay here," Feynriel suggested.

The lines in Hawke's face hardened. "No," he said. "I can't leave him in Tevinter. Getting to Kirkwall and back here will take weeks. It's not an option. I will do the spell here, over and over if that is what it will take. By Andraste's twisted knickers, I live in Danarius' mansion! This has been his home for years, so I'm sure he has some kind of "connection" to this place as well. It will have to do."

Feynriel rolled his eyes and leaned over the tome again. "Very well. The choice is yours. There is not much more that I can tell you. Following the instructions written here should be enough." He straightened and lightly placed a hand on Damian's arm. "Please be careful with this, Hawke. If Danarius doesn't show himself, don't spend too much time in the Fade searching for him. The way time flows in the Fade is different from our physical world and less predictable. That's why what seems like a very long, elaborate dream can take only a few minutes here, but the opposite can be true as well. If you stay a long time in the Fade to look for Danarius, it's possible that even more hours go by in the physical world. Your body will need food, water and plenty of rest after performing such a spell, so don't strain yourself too much."

Damian drew back, away from Feynriel's touch. "I'll manage," he replied coolly. "I will be fine." He ran a hand through his hair. "Thank you for giving me the information I need."

Feynriel nodded, his eyes shining with regret. "I'm sorry I was not completely honest with you."

A dismissive gesture was all he got as a reply. It was too little, too late as far as Damian was concerned. "I would like to be alone now so I can prepare."

"Hawke..."

But Hawke resolutely sat down in one of the chairs that stood around the table, turning his back on Feynriel by doing so. He heard a defeated sigh, followed by footsteps moving away from him, toward the door. At the last moment he looked over his shoulder and called out to Feynriel. "Oh, before I forget: please tell Claudius for me not to bother with invitations in the future."

He turned back in his seat and let his eyes go over the old tome and his knife, still stuck in the table's surface. When Feynriel had left without saying anything else, Hawke reached out and pulled the knife out.

Diplomacy be damned. He had enough of being a pawn in other people's games. He would travel into the Fade and find Danarius, and from the dead magister he would get the answers he needed. An answer to the question how to fix the markings was of course the priority, but that was not the only thing Damian hoped to gain. He needed answers about Fenris' past with Danarius. Fenris had accused him of being the same as Danarius. A confrontation with the magister would surely yield enough evidence to refute that accusation. One look would be sufficient to prove that he was nothing like that rotten, evil bastard!

Damian raised his left hand, the palm turned upward, and stared at the red cut that ran across it. He could sense the power that was waiting underneath, only held back by the frail crust his body had produced in an attempt to start the healing process. One cut and it would be released.

A monster, perhaps. He could not ignore what he had freed within himself. But he was not Danarius, the man who had completely dominated Fenris' life for so long, who had claimed so much of the man Damian loved. There was a world of difference between them. All he needed was confirmation. 

* * *

Rough hands forced him away from sleep's peace once again. A mug was pressed against his lips and tilted so water flowed over its edge into his mouth, forcing him to swallow or choke. Usually he ended up doing both. Still coughing to get the water out of his windpipe, a piece of bread was pressed into his hand. Reluctantly, Fenris tried to open his eyes and took a few bites. The bright blue light coming off his markings nearly blinded him, and chewing the bread until it could be swallowed was an immense effort. All he wanted was to close his eyes again and sleep. It felt like he had only slept for a few hours before the hands came again and disturbed his moment of rest.

He hated those hands, hated to be pulled out of the Fade and into this physical world, which only appeared to be filled with pain and exhaustion. His body felt like it was on fire. It was burning without mercy, thoroughly consuming him. It hurt. The burning pain reminded him of the ritual, but that could not be right, could it? Who would put him through that amount of suffering again?

Hawke... no, that was not right. Hawke would not do that to him. Hawke would never... but who then? Danarius. Fenris' gut clenched in distress before he realized that was not possible either. _Danarius is dead_ , he reassured himself. His former master was no longer able to harm him. Why then was he being burned alive? The work of another magister? Claudius? But how was that possible? Surely he would remember if he had fallen into the hands of a magister once more.

Hawke. Where was Hawke? Why was he not here to alleviate Fenris' pain? Fenris tried to remember, find an explanation, but he drew a blank. The only image that appeared in his mind was of a grimace, framed by bloodied lips. That did not match with Hawke. It did not fit with anything he knew of his red-headed mage. The bloodied mouth spat, an act of contempt and disgust. _No, no._ That was not Hawke. It could not be. Danarius? No, wait...

Fenris gave up. His thoughts were a muddied mess he could make no sense of. He was not even certain where he was. All he knew was that he was alone - the hands did not count, as they did not speak, only prodded and forced food and drink into his mouth - and that Hawke should be here, but that he was not.

The remainder of the bread fell through his phasing fingers. Fenris closed his eyes, longing for the Fade to take him back and stop the pain and the weariness. Even through his closed eyelids the blue light managed to reach his tired eyes. Somehow he knew he would sink even deeper into the realm of spirits and demons this time, so deep that the hands would no longer be able to reach him.

_"Welcome back."_

_"Finally here to stay?"_

It was alright. All he needed was to sleep.

If only he was not alone.

If only Hawke were here.


	36. Chapter 36

The spell seemed pretty straightforward, Hawke concluded after having studied the description on the tome's pages for some time. He rose from his chair and walked through the library to draw the curtains shut. Things like this should be performed in darkness and shadows, away from prying eyes - not that he seriously expected anybody to peer through one of the windows of the library. Sunlight simply seemed... wasted on this. And maybe if he could keep it all inside, hidden away in the dark, if nobody knew... maybe he could forget about it after it was over, pretend it had never happened.

Hawke glanced around the now dimly lit room, his eyes drifting over the rows of bookcases. If he had to do this, he preferred it to be here. Over the past months he had begun to feel comfortable in the library. He had spent so much time here, doing research about Fenris' markings. The library was more than twice the size of the one he had had in Kirkwall, with at least four times as many books. The furniture, the bookcases, the desks and the large table in the middle of the room were all more expensive and of better make, and the mosaic laid out on the floor depicted a large, fire-breathing dragon in such a detailed and lively manner that you would expect it to fly away at any moment, but there were books and books made Damian Hawke feel at home. For years they had provided him with stories about freedom, adventures, love and friendship while he had been forced to remain hidden and unnoticed. Once Carver and Bethany had gotten a little older he had no longer felt as lonely, but the age difference of seven years between himself and the twins had still set them apart as well. While they were still satisfied playing tag and hide and seek, Damian's mind and body had begun to long for different things. Things he desired but did not dare to even hope for, and thus he had tried to contend himself with the many wonders that lay waiting for him to turn the pages.

He took a few candles, lit them with small flames which jumped from his fingertips and placed them in a circle on the floor. Around the age of fifteen Carver had asked him - face beet red and muttering under his breath so Damian could barely understand what he was saying - for advice on how to woo one of the village girls. The answer that Damian had no clue and he could only recommend reading a book had been met with disbelief and eventually Carver had stormed off, convinced this was another case of his elder brother being selfish and unwilling to share his magnificence. As if he had ever been interested in keeping all the teenage girls to himself!

Hawke picked up the tome from the table and held it open in one hand while he drew a circle with lyrium dust within the circle of candles. More lines followed, until he had reproduced the image depicted in the book.

Would Fenris have suspected how limited Damian's experience in this sort of intimate things really was? He could not recall ever bringing it up. His first sexual encounter had actually taken place not long before the Blight had crashed down upon Lothering. It had been with a stable boy, one of Carver's friends and who would march to Ostagar with him to join the king's army. The night before the brave young lads would leave their home to fight the darkspawn had been one of celebration to bid them farewell and wish them good luck. Damian had drank a bit too much, feeling a little jaded that suddenly his little brother was going to fight a heroic battle and risked dying while he was still stuck in Lothering's mud, and after a few glances had been exchanged back and forth over the large campfire the villagers had lit to stay warm in the cool evening, one thing had led to another. A rather unromantic, clumsy event of love-making in the stable had been the result, and to top it all off one of the mules had bitten him in the ass while they were busy and had dared to come too close to its cage. Damian had had no choice but to postpone healing it till the following morning. Naturally he had been spotted while limping back home, and dear, observant Bethany had attributed his strained gait to an entirely different cause. She had run toward him while he crossed the fields and the rest of his journey he had been exposed to some of the most merciless teasing he had ever had to endure. When Damian confessed what had happened and explained the true reason of his discomfort, Bethany had cried with laughter and only managed to tell him she felt very sorry for him by the time they had reached their home again. The tears of hilarity which continued to stream down her face had belied those words.

Damian's smile at the memory faded as he cast a last critical look at the result of his work. Now he had experienced all those things which had once been mere fantasies written down on fragile pages. Reality had turned out to be quite different from the stories. Especially love was more damning than he could ever have imagined. Nothing could have prepared him for what had developed between Fenris and him. It was strong and beautiful and frustrating and irresistible, often all those things at the same time and so much more. How many times had he not believed it to be hopeless, only to be drawn back in by a simple look or a rare but oh-so-lovely smile? Void take him, even that had no longer been necessary in the end! The memories of the moments they had shared and especially of that single night had been more than enough to sustain the fire that burned inside him and easily reduced all his attempts to move on to ashes.

Hawke left the book of the forbidden arts on the floor, stepped inside the pattern and knelt down. His first true blood magic spell. Magic which could only be cast using blood. Would it feel different from his regular spells? Soon enough his dagger was in his right hand, the edge of the blade gently touching the cut in the palm of his other hand. Even this light contact made the damaged nerves flare up in protest, trying to warn him away from making things worse. It was a warning Damian did not heed. A little more pressure, a grunt, and blood welled up from the wound once again.

This time it did not take long to get a hold on the power flowing through his veins. It had been ready well before the knife pierced his skin, patiently waiting for the inevitable moment it would be released. As soon as he was certain he was in control of his magic, Hawke held his hand above a line of lyrium dust and let his blood drip on the pattern he had created. Memories about stories and fantasies faded as he focused on combining the power of blood and lyrium. The circle around Damian began to glow faintly, and he could feel how the magical pattern began to pull, suck his essence in through the cut in his hand and the steady drops of blood that escaped from it. The familiar pain flared up and spread from his heart and head through his arm and hand to the bleeding gash. A deep breath, his eyes closing, and he let go of his last restraint and allowed the blood magic to drag him away. 

* * *

When he became aware of his surroundings again an instant later, Damian found himself surrounded by tall bookcases made of dark, shiny wood. They were clearly supposed to emulate those in Danarius' library, but as most things in the Fade, the illusion did not quite hold up. Instead of standing straight, the bookcases were all more or less hovering at different angles. Some loomed over him without any of their books falling off the shelves. Others appeared to lean against their neighbors, which yet failed to topple over under the extra weight.

Hawke looked around, searching for any sign of a presence besides his own. All he saw was books, books and more books. "Danarius?" he called out. "Are you here? Show yourself!"

No-one deigned to answer him.

He tightened the hold on his staff - or rather his mental representation of a staff which had conjured a staff for him in the Fade - and started walking. "You can't hide from me!" he shouted as he rounded the first corner. "I will find you eventually, you bastard!"

Laws of the physical world were ignored in the Fade and rather than bouncing off the books and bookcases his voice fled away from him and was returned in seemingly random echoes. Far away at unknown distances, faint screams and cries could be heard, although their reason remained a mystery.

The mass of bookcases formed a maze without end. After turning around a few corners, a dead end forced Hawke to turn back. He tried a different route, with the same result. And another. And another. Seldom had the Fade appeared this dark. Though it could be the realm of nightmares and fears, it often was a world of colors and fantastical structures which taunted the  imagination. The latter had been more absent for Hawke lately, but yet the part of the Fade he was in now felt more oppressive and ominous than most of what he had experienced. It seemed a cruel jest to twist something he had found comfort in minutes ago into this claustrophobic trap. Could it be a side effect of the way he had forced himself into the Fade? Maybe it was Danarius' work? Or just mere coincidence?

He kept walking, passing bookcase after bookcase, but it became more and more apparent that he was getting nowhere. If there was an exit to this blasted maze it was unlikely he was going to find it. Finally having enough of wandering aimlessly back and forth, Hawke decided to try a different approach.

His fireball did not set his target aflame, nor shattered it into pieces. Instead the bookcase simply disappeared as soon as it was hit by the spell. Hawke stepped through the opening, only to be faced with another bookcase two steps farther away. No longer having the patience to try to find a way around it, he simply fired off another spell. The obstacle disappeared just like the previous one, without making a sound or leaving splinters. And again a new row of bookcases was revealed. Hawke started walking while the next fireball burst from his staff. He did not pause anymore, just kept up the pace as he blasted in a straight line through everything in his way.

After more than a dozen fireballs, Damian's staff sputtered and grew still. He did not have enough mana left to fuel its magic. To his surprise he saw that he had made it past the last barrier of bookcases. Stepping through the final opening revealed a vast, empty clearing as far as the eye could see. The land looked dead and barren, its only decoration bits of black grass here and there, as if an inferno had raged over it and had destroyed every living thing in the vicinity.

Hawke peered into the distance, hoping to spot something that would warrant further investigation. He did not find anything to give him hope. He had no idea where to go from here. There was nothing to indicate what would be the right direction. Even if he could cross this wasteland, Damian knew he did not have enough power left to confront what might lie in wait for him, least of all Danarius. Escaping from the maze had drained him too much.

He had to go back, return to his body in the physical world. Frustrated by this failure, Damian threw his staff away. "This is not over," he whispered into the empty void before following the connection to his body out of the Fade.

He was not sure whether the laughter that rang in his ears when he awoke was the product of his own imagination or had really echoed through the Fade right before he left.

In a stiff, strained movement Hawke sat upright in his circle of lyrium dust. A strand of hair had ended up in his mouth when his mind had left for the Fade and his body had slumped to the floor. He pushed it away and let his tongue slide over his dry lips. Feynriel had been right about time passing quickly while he searched the Fade. Damian's throat felt parched and his stomach rumbled as he glanced at the nearest curtains. The lack of sunlight peeping through confirmed his suspicion that it had gotten dark already.

He checked his hand. The cut had continued to bleed while he was unconscious and had stained his robes. Still, it appeared he had not lost much blood.

With a soft grunt he got to his feet. Time to bandage his injury and get something to drink and eat. This first attempt might not have had the desired result, but Damian was not going to give up. He would venture into the Fade a thousand times and scour every corner if need be. It was only a matter of time. 

* * *

It did not come as much of a surprise to Damian when Elias informed him that Fenris was no longer waking up, but it was an unpleasant announcement nonetheless, especially considering how fast it had happened. Hawke had hoped it would at least have taken two more weeks before Fenris became permanently trapped by the markings.

"Have you tried waking him?" he asked Elias in a flat voice.

"He's needed waking for the past six days, Dominus. Since yesterday he no longer responds to that either. We have tried everything, but he remains comatose."

Hawke nodded, ignoring the slight quiver of disapproval he believed to detect in Elias' voice at the mentioning of the need to wake Fenris for the past week. Automatically his hand went to his chin to scratch the stubbles there. "I see. Then we need to change our strategy. Get honeyed water and pour some of that in his mouth every hour. Not too much at once or he might choke, but try if you can get him to swallow. If that goes well, switch to things like orange juice and perhaps even apple sauce. It's crucial that he stays hydrated, and his body needs all the energy it can get now."

Elias lowered into his usual bow. "Yes, Dominus."

 Hawke watched the slave return to the task assigned to him. _It will be alright_ , he told himself. _There is still time. Fenris can be kept alive like this for months._

Of course it was not ideal. Solid, regular meals were much better than juice or mashed fruits, but from this moment on it would have to do. It would suffice to keep his heart beating and his lungs work for air.

As long as that was the case, there was still hope.


	37. Chapter 37

Despite the news of Fenris' condition worsening Hawke did not visit him until ten more days had passed, relying on Elias and the other slaves to take care of the elf and keep him alive. Damian Hawke did not need to see Fenris to be aware of him getting worse, and the memory of his last time by Fenris' bed was still fresh on his mind. It was unlikely Fenris would be woken up again by Hawke's presence but Damian could not completely shake the fear that was exactly what would happen. After all, in how many stories was the lover's touch able to free the victim from the magic binding him? Only the books never described said lover's head being ripped off immediately afterwards.

Instead Hawke chose to focus on the search for a solution. He entered the Fade every other day to look for Danarius. Casting the blood magic spell more frequently should be doable, but Hawke had decided to be careful and give his body enough time to recover. There was no way to know how long it would take before he succeeded and when that time came he would rather be in decent shape. It was difficult to tell how much blood he would lose each time he went into the Fade too, and creating a great deficit could be dangerous. Magic could heal some of the most gruesome wounds, but only the body itself could replenish lost blood. So he waited a day after each visit, frustrating as it was. Most of that time he spent bent over the translation of Danarius' notes, with the faint hope understanding would suddenly dawn on him.

That did not happen. Nothing happened. Damian was not rewarded with a grand moment of insight which made everything clear and Danarius continued to resist his call even after six journeys into the Fade. In the quiet hours without true purpose the urge to see Fenris again grew, to make sure he was still breathing and not all was lost yet, until Damian made his way to the bedroom on one of his rest days.

This time the two slaves did not need to be told to leave when Hawke arrived. Quietly they sped past him through the open door, their heads bent. Hawke closed the door behind them before he turned to look at the motionless figure on the bed. The markings seemed to glow more brightly than the last time. The blue light radiating from them made Fenris look like a ghost, as if he was fading away and only part of him was still left here. It was such a fitting match to his condition that Damian had to swallow the lump in his throat away before approaching the bed.

"Hello, Fenris," he said softly before dragging a chair to the bed and sitting down. "I know you... probably wouldn't want me here if you were awake, but... I just... had to see you again." He hesitated a few heartbeats but then took Fenris' hand in both of his own. How frail that hand felt! He could feel the bones straight through the skin. As an elf Fenris had always been slender, but that lean frame used to be combined with strong, ripped muscles and a nearly endless amount of stamina. Lack of physical activity and decent nutrition now consumed those muscles rapidly. Fenris' arms and legs had lost a lot of their volume already. When he woke up again he would be too weak to lift a sword, maybe even to walk.

"It hurts so much to see you like this," Damian whispered. Gently he caressed the back of Fenris' hand, his fingertips running over the bronze skin. "It will end soon. I'll make sure of that. I won't give up. I..." he fell silent, a suspicious frown crinkling his brow. He had felt something unexpected, something he was not supposed to feel.

Something was wrong. The palms of Fenris' hands had always been rough and calloused from years of wielding a sword, but the back of his hands was surprisingly soft and smooth. Or used to be. Damian's tender caress revealed a different sensation. Slowly he pulled the hand that covered the back of Fenris' hand away to check for proof of his suspicions. He had to squint against the light of the lyrium, but when he finally did see what he was looking for, everything seemed to come to a halt.

It felt like somebody had smacked him against the back of the head with a heavy object. Damian's breathing was cut off, his heart stopped beating in his chest. His eyes registered nothing after the sight of the peeling skin, his ears unable to hear anything but a terrible buzzing noise which was produced by his own numb mind.

He recognized the signs, knew what they meant. He had seen them before, once, more than six years ago during his time as a member of Athenril's smuggling group. One of the crates they had had to transport for a job had not been sealed properly and the two men who had carried it had soon started to have patches of shedding  and blistering skin on their arms and hands. Right before they had started bleeding from their eyes. They had survived the incident - barely - but mind nor body had fully recovered. If Hawke had been the one to carry that crate it would have meant his death. It had been the main reason for his falling out with Athenril and not leaving the smugglers on very good terms.

The fatal meaning of the symptoms slammed the world back into focus and made the remnant of air Damian had been holding in his lungs come out with a wheezing sound.

_Lyrium poisoning._

"Oh no."

Frantically he inspected the rest of Fenris' body. Arms, chest, neck, legs, everywhere he found small blisters and the skin peeling near the edges of the markings.

"No no no no no no."

He rose from the chair to lean over Fenris and lifted an eyelid to check the unconscious elf's eye. A bloodshot retina was revealed, moving rapidly left and right while Fenris' spirit dreamt in the Fade.

"No no no no! NO!!!" Damian cried out as he fell back in his chair. "Why are you _doing_ this to me?" He slammed his fist on the mattress, which had no impressive effect except his hand feebly bouncing back. "Why do you have to make this even harder?"

How was it possible that those terrible markings kept making things worse? First demons having access to Fenris' mind had appeared to be the threat. Then the unstable connection to the Fade which had eventually dragged him into a coma. Now it was the lyrium itself. Fenris being unable to wake up had been bad, but this was worse. Far worse. Weakened as Fenris would have been after weeks of sleep, he could have been kept alive as long as was necessary. This... this was a death sentence. No extra time to find a solution. The markings were falling apart and with each passing day would release more lyrium into Fenris' system, poisoning him till a lethal level was reached.

"No." The word was accompanied by a sob. Damian got up again and raised his hands above Fenris' abdomen. He wrestled with the two conflicting streams of magic within him, his ability to focus further impaired by blind panic. Though the cut in his palm was closed at the moment and not bleeding, the forbidden power urged him to use it. It blocked the way to his healing abilities, repeatedly interfering with his concentration when he was about to gain control of a spell. Finally he got a hold on his healing magic and was able to let a spell flow from his fingertips.

"No, Fenris. Please. Please don't do this to me. No. No."

But lyrium, being magic in a solid form, did not obey the same laws of magic as everything else. Damian found nothing to heal, no damage, no wounds, not even tumors. Whatever the lyrium was doing to Fenris, Hawke's magic could not reach it and therefore not cure it. Apart from the superficial symptoms of the skin and eyes, lyrium's effects remained hidden and could not be healed.

He groaned. "Please, Fenris. Why... you can't. I can't. Please." Eventually he gave up on the spell and let it go. It was not doing anything. Worthless.

His hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into the crust on his left hand. The injury throbbed and protested against this assault, but the blood underneath it begged to flow.

Hawke cast a final look at Fenris' glowing body, wasting away and invisibly assaulted by the lyrium in his bloodstream, then turned around and raced out of the room, past the two dumbfounded slaves waiting outside.

Prudence be damned. Fuck caution. Time was running out. It _had_ run out already. Who knew how much damage the lyrium in Fenris' body had already done? He could not afford any more delays. Fenris was dying. The ritual had to be undone, those disgusting markings had to be removed.

Hawke slammed the door to the library shut behind him and immediately walked to the circle of candles and the pattern of lyrium dust. He renewed the lines with more dust from a small pouch he had grabbed from the table, lit the candles and sat down in the center. Without a moment of pause he retrieved the dagger from his belt and cut through the crust on his palm. The sensation of warm, wet blood on his skin elicited a sigh, his mind clearing a little in panic's merciless hold. He performed the familiar process of mixing lyrium with blood, blood with lyrium, then allowed the fire to burn through his veins and the combination of lyrium and blood to force his mind from his body and into the Fade. 

* * *

Hawke found himself in a room which resembled Danarius' library. No maze of bookcases this time. The room looked relatively normal for the Fade, although the chairs were placed on top of the table rather than around it and some bookcases still had not learned the meaning of gravity. "Danarius!"

Silence, as usual. He opened the door and went into the hallway. He passed several closed doors, some of which he was pretty certain he had not seen earlier, before he reached the staircase. Which happened to be upside down. Shaking his head at the absurdity of the Fade's creations, Hawke took the first few steps. The mismatch between what his mind and eyes predicted and the "reality" of the Fade made him dizzy, but he managed to reach the next floor nevertheless.

Doors. Endless rows of doors left right.

He called Danarius' name again before turning right, the way Fenris' bedroom would be. Hawke opened all the doors he walked past, but every room they revealed was empty.

He kept going, even after it had become clear he had ended up in another trap without escape. Mazes of bookcases, desolate, barren plains, long, winding corridors going nowhere, it was all the same. A waste of time, a way to drain him and still be left with nothing. But Damian's desperation ushered him on, kept him going while retreat would be the wisest thing to do.

Spending five minutes or five hours here, the result was the same. No Danarius. No answers. He had no idea how many doors he had pushed open, only that it had to be hundreds. Turning back would take too long, and likely yield the same outcome.

He had to leave the Fade. 

* * *

His mouth was dry as desert when he awoke in the library, his stomach painfully shrunken from hunger. The first attempt to get back on his feet failed, but once he stood upright Damian immediately went to the kitchen and ordered the slaves to bring him all the food and drink they could carry.

Hawke sat in the kitchen and ate and drank as much as he could. He chewed sloppily, swallowing large bites at once and downing it with water, milk or wine. The taste of it all barely registered. He did not eat for enjoyment or even satisfaction. He ate the same way he had marched through the Fade, opening door after door without stopping.

He ate too much. He felt nauseated by the time he was finished, but he did not care. Restoring the energy he would need to continue was the only purpose. Ignoring the staring slaves, Hawke walked out of the kitchen and made his way to his own bedroom, where he lay down on the bed without undressing and fell asleep in a surprisingly short time.

The following morning he went down to the library and ventured into the Fade once again, spending hours searching for Danarius without success. Afterwards he returned to the kitchen to eat till he felt like he was about to burst. This became his daily rhythm, the pattern his existence followed. He slept, dwelled the Fade, ate, defecated, slept, and went into the Fade again.

He started cutting in different places, marking his lower arm with a fresh cut each time he had to perform the spell. Not because he enjoyed it, or because it was necessary, but simply because it was the only way to feel something other than that constant, sickening sensation of despair that smothered everything else. The kiss of the knife, the sting of pain followed by the rush of power became the highlight of each day, the only moment he still felt alive and dared to hope he would find what he needed this time. _Maybe the magisters are right. Maybe this is the magic of freedom after all._

_"Monster. Monster. Monster."_

_Anything for you, Fenris._

Day and night became meaningless. Whenever Hawke woke up he went downstairs to travel into the Fade, sometimes two or three times a day. He only took some time to recover when his hands and feet started to feel permanently cold and his skin became sickly pale, and even then the time he granted himself was barely sufficient.

He never bothered to heal his self-inflicted wounds. He did not really know why, only that it seemed too much effort. The slaves began to leave health poultices near the library door, probably on Elias' instruction. Sometimes he used them. Most often he did not. That his arm did not get infected was a miracle in itself, but Hawke paid no attention to it. Only the Fade was relevant.

He roamed twisted versions of Minrathous, Lothering, and other places he might or might not have visited before. All were abandoned, the random echoes of his voice the only reaction he got.

This time he ended up in Kirkwall. He recognized the streets of Lowtown, even more bereft of color than their real counterpart. After wandering the alleys for some time, and ending up at the alienage via more separate routes than should have been possible, a familiar sign off in the distance caught Hawke's eye. It was farther away than he remembered, but it became larger as Hawke approached until the form could no longer be mistaken: the figure of a man, bound by his feet and hanging upside down.

_The Hanged Man._

This was where they had fought Danarius. This was where the magister had died.

Could it be?

Hastily Damian kicked the door open and peered inside. It was darker than he remembered. A couple of short candle stumps burning on the four or five tables in the establishment served as the only sources of light. The high windows were rendered useless, as if it was pitch black outside. Staff firmly in his right hand, he stepped across the threshold. The door immediately fell shut behind him.

He was about to turn around to investigate this unsettling event when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. A robed, older man descended the stairs on the far end of the room, mirroring the first time they had met. "Well, look who's here. The Champion of Kirkwall. My, my, how the mighty have fallen!"

That voice left no room for doubt. Despite having faced the grey-haired magister only once, Damian would never forget that smooth, confident voice which betrayed both arrogance and power. He walked away from the door and towards the center of the room, where the dead magister was already waiting for him. "I could say the same of you, Danarius," Hawke replied when he came to a stop.

"Why, how kind of you to come visit me then. Shall we start a club?"

Hawke suppressed the tendency to clench his free hand into a fist. "How do you undo the ritual?"

"I think I already know a name. 'The club of little Fenris' fallen mages'. How does that sound?"

"HOW?!" he bellowed.

Danarius looked unfazed by this display of impatience. "Tsk tsk tsk, my dear Champion. First I would like to know how you think to convince me to tell you such a thing. After all," a malicious smile curled the mouth of the magister's spirit, "I am already dead."


	38. Chapter 38

Hawke's fingers tightened around his staff while he did his best to retain his last sliver of self-control. He had not come all this way to be toyed with by another magister, and a dead one at that. After countless journeys into the Fade he had finally found the man he had been looking for. He would squeeze the truth out of Danarius. It was unthinkable the magister could still triumph now.

"Tell me," Hawke spoke slowly, carefully pronouncing each word to make it very clear he meant it, "Or I will reduce you to the most pitiful wisp that ever roamed the Fade!"

All he was rewarded with was a mockingly raised eyebrow. "An uninspired version of the traditional death treat. How disappointing. You barbarians are truly a one-note type of people. Still, I had hoped for a little more from one of their champions." Danarius shrugged. "It looks like I will have to arrange my own entertainment."

"I am not here for your amusement."

The ghostly, slightly hazy features of the magister flashed another smile that made Damian's skin crawl. "On the contrary," Danarius said cheerfully. "That is _exactly_ why you're here. Your constant nagging got on my nerves. You kept disturbing my rest with that little spell of yours, so now the time has come to get this over with. Make no mistake: I would still not be here if I did not wish to, so I intend to make it worth my while."

"Just tell me what I need to know and you will be rid of me! Stop wasting my time!"

"Waste your time? Need I remind you already that you are the one who came to me? If anything, _you_ are wasting _my_ time. I believe there are others here far more eager to have a word with you than I."

Danarius raised his right arm and Hawke, thinking the magister was reaching for his staff, hurriedly raised a spell shield to block whatever would be sent his way, but Danarius' hand lowered well before it had reached the staff on his back. Except for an odd flick of the magister's wrist nothing happened. Hawke was about to open his mouth to pressure Danarius into answering again, when a voice coming from behind him cut him off.

"Why are you here, Damian?"

The spell shield dissolved as Hawke spun around to see who had spoken his name. His jaw grew slack when he recognized the face of the ghost.

He looked just like Damian remembered. Hair, once as dark as that of the twins, now grey and balding on the top of the head. Eyes of the same color as Bethany's innocent deer eyes. The face so similar to his own, only older.

"F... Father?"

Malcolm Hawke approached him, brow sternly lowered while the thin line of his mouth betrayed sadness. Damian held up his hands protectively and backed away. "No," he breathed. "I didn't call you. You're not real." He quickly looked over his shoulder to where Danarius had stood, but the intensity of the darkness had increased and he could not see farther than the small circle of light coming from the candle on the table next to him. The magister was nowhere to be seen."Get out of my head!" he yelled into nothing before turning back to the ghost of his father. Malcolm was standing maybe three steps away from him. "Stay back," he warned with quivering voice. "You can't be here."

His father's reply was calm. "And why not? I am dead after all."

"I didn't call for you," Damian repeated. Again he glanced around in search of Danarius. If the magister was still here, he made no move and produced no sound. Suddenly he felt scared. This was not supposed to happen. He had gone in for a confrontation with Danarius, not his dead father. Father was not supposed to know how far he had gone, how many lines he had crossed to get here. He could not bear Father seeing the state he was in since he had sunk into the embrace of madness - for that was the only word to describe what had preceded his presence here, the endless sequence in the library of cutting in his own flesh and casting the same spell over and over again, sick with despair and high on the power of blood magic at the same time.

Malcolm Hawke shook his head. "You are not in control here. Not even with blood magic on your side. Go back, Damian. You are the one who is not supposed to be here."

"I can't go back. Not yet. Not before I-"

"Have I not warned you about the dangers of blood magic? Did none of my lessons stick with you?"

"They did, Father, but I had no choice." He swallowed. "I had to do it. I can't heal Fenris on my own."

Malcolm's dark brown eyes turned even darker with anger. "So that's why you came? I do not recall seeing you here for little Bethany. Or your mother. Were they not worth the extra effort?"

Damian stood frozen in place, a ghostly resemblance of tears in his eyes. His father's accusation struck where it hurt the most, the failure to protect his family an injury that would never heal, not fully. "You're accusing me of not using blood magic sooner? I... no. No. I should not listen to this." He pinched the bridge of his nose. It was an even more useless gesture in the Fade than in the physical world. It did little to prevent his breathing from becoming uneven, shallow, from tears burning in his eyes. "You're not real. You're not Father. Danarius! Stop hiding!"

"I asked you to look after them. I trusted you to take care of them." The grief in Malcolm's voice was unmistakable. He sounded so earnest that it was impossible for Damian to block him out.

"I tried! I swear I tried. Everything just kept going wrong. That ogre was so fast, and brave Beth got its attention by attacking first. It was already over before I realized what was happening... There was nothing that could be done, Father. Not even blood magic would have saved her." Strange how tears in the Fade did not leave wet traces on your cheeks. They simply ceased to exist as soon as they dripped from his jaw. "And Mother... when I found out she was missing I went after her as fast as I could. I searched everywhere for her! But I... I was too late. Again. Had I used blood magic then, it would still not have brought her back. It would just be that... that _thing_ , parts of different women sewn together to replicate someone who died years ago. Is that what I should have done? Animate a corpse to serve as my mother?"

Malcolm was unrelenting, his face betrayed no sympathy. "That is your excuse? You were too late? That is how you justify letting your family die? Your own mother? Why didn't you save them?" Each sentence received more emphasis than the previous one, until the last question felt like it was being hammered into his bruised heart, word for merciless word.

"Yes, I was too late! I messed up! There is not a day I do not think of what I could - and should - have done differently. What more do you want from me?"

"I want to know why you are here now, for some elf, while you did nothing when your family died. Why did you not save them?"

"I just told you! Father, I tried. I didn't know what else to do. Blood magic seemed no option back then. I did remember what you taught me. I believed resorting to blood magic would be even worse than accepting their deaths, but now... This... this is my last chance to get it right. The last time I can save someone I love. Fenris is not just "some elf". I love him. And I need him to live."

His father's voice became nearly as soft as a whisper, though it did not make the words sound remotely kind. "And why," Malcolm hissed, "was blood magic not an option in those situations?" The volume of his voice abruptly rose to and beyond normal levels. "You either stick to your ideals and suffer the consequences or you abandon them for a greater purpose. You can't have it both ways!"

 "Well, I tried sticking to strategy number one and I learned the hard way that ideals don't mean shit when everybody you care about dies! I wanted to be what you expected me to be, what others believed me to be, but... No." Damian drew a frantic breath, then drew several more before he regained his ability to speak. Breathing was actually rather meaningless in the Fade, but it was one of the most powerful illusions the realm of spirits maintained. Or maybe humans were simply so used to drawing breath that even without a body they felt the need to keep doing it. "No. This is not real. I... I should not listen to any of this. I'm not speaking to you anymore."

 _Dispel_. He had to cast a spell to dispel any magic at play here. That should stop Danarius' mind-addling tricks, at least for a moment. _If this is indeed Danarius' doing. If that is really not Father._ Damian searched within himself for the strength and concentration to prepare the spell, but those two ingredients were difficult to get a hold of in his inner turmoil.

"And what about us, Brother? Will you talk to us?"

Bethany stepped out of the shadows on Malcolm's right, followed by Leandra on the left. What little focus Damian had mustered shattered instantly at the sight of their pale faces. "Bethy... Mother..."

Narrow streams of dried blood ran from Bethany's nose and the corners of her mouth. The fabric of her dress bore stains of blood as well. As she came closer, Damian feverishly avoided looking at the spot where her skull had split open when the ogre had smacked her against the ground.

She stopped right in front of him and smiled that sad, broken smile she used to show whenever they talked about magic and her thoughts turned to how she had been cursed with those powers. "It hurt so much when that monster grabbed me," she whispered before reaching out and taking his hand in hers. Her touch was cold, cold as ice. "Why didn't you help me? Why didn't you save me?"

All he could do was stare wordlessly at his little sister, new tears streaming from his eyes.

Damian was still trying to get his tongue to move and produce a sound when his mother came shuffling toward him. She was wearing the wedding dress Quentin had put on her, a golden tiara with a veil attached to it on her grey hair. Whereas with Bethany he had managed to avoid a clear view of her lethal injuries, as Leandra approached him his eyes were immediately drawn to the horrendous stitches on her neck. He had lost count of the number of nightmares he had had featuring those stitches, crude as they were, so obviously made without the intention to heal, to mend.

Leandra raised a frail hand and placed it against his cheek. Her touch was as cold Bethany's, freezing him straight through his unkempt beard. "My darling," she said, "Till the last moment I kept believing you would come for me. Why didn't you come? Why didn't you save me?"

"Mother..." The word escaped with a sob. He just stood there, trembling from head to toe, Bethany's hands wrapped around his left hand, Mother's hand against his face.

"The Hawke family line will end with you," his father said. "Why didn't you save them?"

That cracked the shell of helplessness and grief that immobilized him. Damian looked past the faces of his sister and mother and locked eyes with Malcolm. "T-that's not true," he stuttered. "I'm not the last." He drew back from the specters of Leandra and Bethany. "You're lying! Carver survived the Deep Roads. He is still alive. "

"And how would you know, Brother?"

Damian whirled around, ending up face to face with his younger brother, clad in the Grey Warden armor he had last seen Carver in. Black veins shone through the skin of his neck and face, the light blue irises muddied to a dirty grey while the pupils had turned a milky white. Damian stumbled backwards, into the cold, waiting arms of his mother and sister.

Carver folded his arms in front of his chest and made his bitter mock-face. "When was the last time you wrote me a letter? You never even bothered to let me know where you'd gone or how I could contact you. Am I supposed to believe you care now?"

The touch of his mother and sister was so cold it hurt. Bethany clung to the arm in which he was holding his staff, while Leandra had grabbed his left arm and held it in a firm grip, paying no heed to the many cuts that marked his lower arm. He could feel his skin go numb within seconds. "It can't be," he breathed. "You're not dead. You didn't die! You became a Grey Warden!"

"Grey Wardens fight darkspawn, remember?" Carver remarked. "Not exactly as save as being a farmer."

"No. No." He moaned and doubled over, but Bethany and Leandra pulled him back up, their fingers of ice digging in his arms. "You're not dead. You can't be dead."

"How long has it been since you left Kirkwall? I'd say that left me plenty of time to die."

Damian shook his head, trying to keep himself from collapsing under the guilt heaped upon his shoulders. Danarius was forgotten, the relevance of the magister's presence diminished by the accusatory stares of his deceased family members. "I've been meaning to write you," he whispered to Carver's moody ghost. "I have been thinking about you, but Fenris..."

"I bet you haven't spared a single thought for me since you left," a new voice coming from Carver's left sneered.

Damian's eyes bulged. He recognized that voice before his uncle stepped into the small circle of light. " _Gamlen?_ "

Gamlen scowled. "That's right, _boy_."

"But... but _how_?" He glanced around, his gaze shooting from one harsh face to the next. "Is this supposed to be my fault as well?"

His uncle's scowl turned into a glare. "Typical. Not even a moment to consider the consequences of blowing up the Chantry and running off with your band of lunatics? The Grand Cleric dead, the Knight-Commander dead... you thought the Templars and the Chantry would leave it at that? Just when I believed most of the mess you'd caused had been cleaned up they came for me. Demanded to know your location. Of course I had no idea, but I guess only my slow death convinced them of the truth of that."

His father's voice sounded behind him. "What do you have to say for yourself? Why didn't you save them?"

Bethany pulled at his arm. "Why didn't you save me?" she asked in a pleading voice.

On his other side Leandra did the same. "Why didn't you come for me? Why didn't you save me?"

The specters began to close in on him, blame in their eyes, their mouths echoing the same accusation until they were chanting it together. "Why didn't you save me? Why didn't you save us?"

"No, go away!" He twisted and wrestled in the freezing grip of his mother and sister, desperate to get away. Everything around him seemed to shrink in his panic, till basic instinct took over. It turned out that was exactly what he needed. "Leave me alone!"

Damian jerked his right arm free from Bethany's hands and slammed his staff on the floor in front of him. "I'M SORRY!"

The strongest mind blast spell he could power erupted from the staff in all directions. The accompanying shockwave thundered through the room, though the Fade ignored the effects this should have on the environment. He could sense someone get hit.

When the force of the spell waned and silence descended upon the room, Damian did not immediately look around. Instead he leaned on his staff, eyes on the floor. He listened to his own sawing breaths, vaguely aware of the darkness retreating, waiting for the inevitable icy hand to descend upon his shoulder.

A slow, mocking applause made him start. His head jerked up to see a slightly disheveled Danarius saunter in his direction from the opposite side of the room. "My, that _was_ amusing," Danarius drawled. "A bit too melodramatic for my tastes, but entertaining to watch nonetheless."

For a while Hawke could only stare at Danarius, as if he did not know where he was or who the robed figure in front of him was supposed to be. "So..." he licked his lips and opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he squeezed the rest of the words out. "They weren't real?"

Danarius smiled at him. "Why wouldn't they be? I am real, am I not? At least, that's the assumption that brought you here."

 _What brought me here._ Damian straightened his back so he was the one looking down at Danarius. _Fenris._ He had come here for Fenris. He could not allow himself to fall apart, not when Fenris' life depended on it. He clung to that idea like a lifeline, used it to steel what was left of his heart and not crumble under Danarius' gaze. "You've had your fun," he replied wryly. "Now tell me what I need to know."

Danarius continued his saunter by walking in a circle around Hawke. "You want to know how to get rid of the markings? Very well." He leaned in to whisper in a conspiratorial tone. "Take a knife, and carve them out. Line for line."


	39. Chapter 39

Hawke considered smacking his staff against Danarius' head then and there, but in the end he managed to restrain himself. He settled for a cold glare. "If I believed that was what it takes to save him, I would skin him alive without hesitation," he hissed to Danarius. "But we both know that even if I was able to heal him quickly enough throughout that process, Fenris would not survive the sudden removal of the lyrium. That stuff is not only in his skin. It goes far deeper than that. Whatever you did, it made the markings part of him and I doubt a knife will undo that. Now tell me the truth!"

"Aren't you clever." Danarius completed his first circle and paused again in the spot he had been standing prior to Malcolm Hawke's appearance. "Still, I'm afraid that's all I can do for you. The knife or nothing. Take your chances."

"Stop fooling around, you sick bastard!" Damian yelled, fury strengthening his determination. "Fenris deserves a lifetime free from you after everything you have done to him!"

"Fenris," Danarius hissed, "is getting exactly what he deserves. He turned on and killed his rightful master. Every day he has continued to live without me is a day too many. I am looking forward to the moment this will finally be rectified. My little wolf's punishment is due." For the first time something that could be interpreted as a form of emotion - besides malice - glinted in Danarius' mercury grey eyes.

"You want him to die just for your lust for petty revenge? Is there not even one tiny nugget of empathy hidden inside that rotten heart of yours?"

"Technically true." Danarius started walking in a circle around Hawke again. "I think I do not need to remind you that Fenris tore it out, so I'm afraid I am lacking a heart altogether. But this is not about revenge, no. Fenris will be punished for his disobedience, but in the end I'm sure his master will be able to forgive him and things will be back to the way they should be."

""They way it should be"," Hawke echoed. "You mean with him as your slave. What use is a slave in death? Can't get a demon to give you a backrub?"

"Fenris belongs at my side," it sounded from behind him.

Damian turned around. "Not anymore!" he snapped. "Fenris is free now. You no longer get to say where he belongs."

"Free?" A chuckle escaped from the dead magister. "That's not what I'm seeing. I see chains, and a lovely collar around a lovely neck."

Damian briefly stumbled in his place before he recovered. _How does he know..?_ "That's not the same."

He recoiled as Danarius suddenly deviated from his circle and instead stepped closer to him. "Is it?" the magister asked smoothly, his face uncomfortably nearby, then quickly stepped away again and continued his normal pattern.

"It's not!" Hawke bit back. "I had to do that. It was the only way to keep him save!"

"Oh, I'm not judging." Danarius smirked. "Important decisions should be left to those who know best. Many of the simpler beings just lack _vision_. That's not their fault. It's simply not in their nature."

Hawke aimed his staff at Danarius. His arm quivered while he did so, making it lose most of its intimidating potential. "It was for his own good. Once he has recovered, Fenris will be free again. He is not and never will be my slave. I protected him!"

"And _I_ made him great!" Danarius ignored the unspoken threat of Hawke's staff pointing at his face. The slightly gaunt cheeks of the magister gained more color while he talked about his ultimate achievement. "I made him perfect. Without me he would still be nothing, an elf among thousands of other elves. A pretty slave worth a couple of sovereigns at best."

"You speak of him as if he's an object, a possession you can shape to your will. Fenris did not need your intervention to become great. He was great well before your mad experiment!"

Danarius started another round. Hawke followed the magister with his staff, shuffling in place to turn along with Danarius' circling movement. His movements were jerky and unsteady, lacking the confident grace of the older mage. "And how would you know that?" Danarius asked him. "You've never met him before he underwent my ritual. The Fenris you know, everything he is, is the way he is because of me. I _made_ him. Even the name he carries, the name you call him, is the name I chose for him. He is _my little wolf,_ through and through. And let's be honest here: would you have him any other way? Would you have given him a place in your private group of mercenaries if he did not used to be my personal bodyguard, augmented with the powers _I_ gave him? Would he even have been worthy of a second glance in passing?"

Danarius kept walking, but Damian's step faltered. He still kept his staff raised, but with Danarius moving on the last of its meaning was lost. It was powerless against Danarius' weapon of choice: words.

Were it not the markings that had piqued his interest upon first meeting the Tevinter fugitive? How much of the initial attraction he had felt had stemmed from fascination with the great mystery that was Fenris? Even Fenris' guarded manner of speaking, his reluctance to let anyone get close and which made every inch gained all the more rewarding could directly be traced back to his life as Danarius' slave. Danarius' fingerprints were everywhere. The extreme distrust of mages and magic which had been reason for countless arguments. Even... Damian's knees grew weak. Even Fenris' touch, that unique caress laced with lyrium, that steel grip that could make him hot with desire, existed because Danarius had put the lyrium there. What part of Fenris could he claim to love that not somehow originated from his time as Danarius' slave?

"Fine," he snapped without bothering to turn in Danarius' direction. "I might not have known him as Leto. But at least I care about him for who he is now. All you can care about is how you changed him. You _broke_ him, and you're proud of it! It's disgusting, but you don't feel any remorse. Not even in death can you bring yourself to show some compassion."

Danarius entered his field of vision again, looking relaxed as if he was taking a stroll through his garden. "There was potential in Leto," the magister said. "I recognized it and honed it to perfection. Believe what you will, but that does require care. In fact, nothing is stronger than the bond between master and slave."

He wanted to continue his circle around Hawke, but Hawke stepped aside and held out the arm with his staff to block his path. "You're barking mad," Damian hissed through gritted teeth.

Danarius once again looked more amused than annoyed. "Once a slave relinquishes all selfish thoughts, wants and desires and the master accepts the great responsibility that comes with having complete control over someone else it can be the beginning of something _remarkable_ ," he explained patiently, as if Hawke was a not overly bright child. "The bond between master and slave relies on a trust that transcends any relationship possible between free individuals. No second-guessing of orders or decisions. The slave would lay down his life to save his master without hesitation, and the master trusts that the slave will keep him safe. Doubting the other is unthinkable. Is this not something you can only dream of having?"

The weakness in his legs seemed to intensify. "I've never dreamt of having a slave at my side." Curse his voice for sounding so weak, so feeble!

"No?" Danarius asked in perfectly faked surprise. "Then why the chains, my dear Champion? What purpose do they serve, other than compensate for what cannot come naturally? Why were they needed if the same trust that existed between Fenris and I was shared between you and the little wolf?"

 _He is messing with you. He'll say anything to get under your skin. Don't let him. It's not the same. It's not. It's not._ "It's..." Memories of the past few months in Minrathous flooded him, called forward by Danarius words. The renewal of doubt in Fenris' eyes whenever he looked at him. The constant second-guessing and arguments every step of the way while all he had been trying to do was find a way to heal Fenris. Always having to defend himself against the same baseless accusations. The look on Fenris' face when Hawke had gotten tired of his few pairs of Antivan trousers and had started wearing Tevinter robes. So many years, so much effort put into building their relationship, only to be returned to square one in the blink of an eye. Had he not proven himself long ago? Was it so wrong to expect Fenris to trust him after everything they had made it through together? Had he not earned at least that? A little bit of unconditional trust?

Hawke stared into Danarius' eyes until the silver color faded and he only saw himself reflected in them.

_"You're a monster."_

Danarius stepped to the side and continued his circle. Damian sank to his knees, the last strength in his legs abandoning him. He had taken away Fenris' freedom. He had believed he deserved Fenris' trust, that it was something Fenris owed him, and when he had not gotten it - or not enough of it - he had removed Fenris' ability to decide from the equation. His motivations might have been different, he might have done it believing it was the best for both of them, but in the end it was no different from what Danarius had done: eliminating all choice for a greater purpose, a purpose directly tied to Fenris' life, thinking it would benefit them both in the end.

"There is something empowering about owning a person so completely as I owned Fenris," Danarius went on as if they were having a casual conversation about the local weather and Hawke had not just collapsed at his feet.

"Shut up." The pain he had experienced upon seeing his dead family was numbed to a pinprick in the vast agony Danarius had torn open inside him now. How noble was his determination to save Fenris? Did most of his motivation not stem from the fear of reliving the misery of losing someone he loved? Had he given Fenris' beliefs and desires any thought when he decided to chain him, or had there only been room for his own selfish wants and fears?

"Do you know what he used to say when I spilled my seed inside him?"

"Shut up!" He was going to be sick. He was already feeling sick. One look at Danarius, hearing a few words out of his mouth, should have proven that Fenris' lack of trust was baseless. Simply seeing that sadistic bastard should have sufficed to erase all doubt from Damian's mind that he could be seen as even remotely similar to that monster. How could he not have realized? How could he have convinced himself that his crimes were any less great? The details were irrelevant. He had crossed boundaries without remorse - he still felt none. The realization this placed him at the same level as Danarius was the upsetting part.

_"Monster."_

Danarius crouched down on Damian's left, bringing his mouth close to his ear. ""Thank you, Master"."

"SHUT UP!!!" He pressed his hands against his ears to hear no more, but the Fade did not grant this escape. Danarius' laughter rang clearly in his mind, the sound ignoring every blockade it encountered.

If it were possible to throw up in the Fade, he would have done it then. Images of Danarius and Fenris seeped into his mind. How many times had he tried to persuade Fenris to reveal more of his relationship with Danarius? He had believed being in love meant no more secrets, being able to share the truth about one's past. He had thought knowing everything would make it easier, both for Fenris and for him. It turned out he had been nothing but wrong. Perhaps for the first time he could grasp what Fenris had been through, the complete, horrifying and humiliating ugliness of it all. The helplessness of knowing and never being able to undo it, make it better, less vile, was crippling. The realization how close to committing a similar offense he had been rendered Damian mute. His body shuddered with each silent sob that wrecked him. Would that blond slave have thanked him if Damian had allowed the elf to suck him?

Danarius watched as Damian pulled his hands back from his ears and instead leaned on them to at least stay partially upright. "You're a sad, weak man, Champion," he concluded before getting up and distancing himself from Hawke. "It would be funny if it weren't so insulting. To think that _you_ are what prevented Fenris from being returned to his leash."

"Please..." Damian did not even look at the magister, content to let his head hang in shame. "Just let me save him."

A soft chuckle made it clear what Danarius' answer was going to be. "Do you still not get it? There is only one place where Fenris belongs, and that is by my side. His entire existence is tied to me. His imminent death proves that he literally cannot live without me. An unexpected but poetic revelation. Who am I to stand in the way of destiny?"

_"An unexpected but poetic revelation."_

_"An unexpected revelation."_

Leaning on his hands and knees, Damian shakily raised his head enough to stare at Danarius. "You... you don't know either, do you? You have no... i-idea. Nobody does. It was all one big experiment. The markings worked as they sh-should and what... whatever happens afterwards is a matter of wait-and-see."

Danarius shrugged, smiling. "Does it matter?" he asked nonchalantly. "Whether I know or not, I would never tell you."

 _He doesn't know. He doesn't know. He doesn't know._ Damian's fingers edged toward his staff, which he had dropped in the preceding chaotic moments. Anger roared inside him. Rage - at the world in general, at the lack of an answer after everything he had done to get here, at the unfairness of it all - needed a target, something to crush before he would be the one to be crushed. It needed an outlet before it would burn up and implode, leaving nothing but cold emptiness. It was only a matter of time now. Maybe it was inevitable. But Damian was not ready to accept it yet. He refused to acknowledge what this meant, so he gave in to his rage. Danarius _had to_ know!

Danarius' spell knocked him across the room as soon as his hand closed around his staff. The crushing prison that followed suspended him into the air and kept him trapped there while his body felt like someone tried to squeeze it several sizes smaller.

"Well, it was a pleasure, Champion," Danarius said cheerfully from the other side of the Hanged Man. "But I think you have overstayed your welcome now."

The crushing prison increased in intensity. Not much longer and it would squash him. Damian harnessed all his anger to power a spell that could undo Danarius' deathly trap. Casting while invisible walls pushed down on you from all sides was problematic at the best of times, but at this moment in the Fade Hawke had moved passed pain and the limitations it usually brought.

_Monsters don't bother feeling pain._

Free from the prison spell, Damian nearly fell down again. The unexpected weight on his legs had him slumping to the ground before he managed to get up, grabbing his staff simultaneously. When he looked around for Danarius, he spotted movement near the door.

 _He's not even waiting for his spell to finish me off._ Damian took two large steps forward, then used his remaining energy to make razor-sharp spikes of ice rise up from the floor where the magister was supposed to be.

A sizzling sound betrayed the use of a spell shield. The magical energy used to create the ice spikes was absorbed without harming its target. Despite the windows still being useless as sources of light, Damian could clearly see the door open and part of Lowtown lying beyond.

He started running, simultaneously forcing a fireball from his staff. It exploded against the door, which had fallen shut the instant before.

Damian launched himself forward, ignoring the last effects of his spell which were still dying away. The door looked none the worse after having been set on fire. With a loud grunt he pulled it open again and stumbled outside.

He did not even need to look around to know there would be nothing here.

Danarius was gone. 

* * *

 

He returned to his body with a jolt. His arms and legs spasmed briefly before Damian could roll himself on his stomach. From that position he pushed himself up. His face and beard were wet, his left sleeve and the part of his robe where his arm had been resting on his stomach even more so, though not from the same liquid.

_Where is it?_

Frantically he felt around with his hands, searching for his knife and messing up the drawings made with lyrium and blood. When his fingers finally found the handle of the small weapon he began to crawl out of his circle on hands and knees, the knife clenched in one hand.He had to get them out. Those horrible markings were poisoning Fenris. He would not let them. Damn what he had said to Danarius. He had to get them out.

He knocked over several candle stumps, but their flames had burned up long ago anyway.

Fenris was not going to die. Damian would not let him. He would fix it, make it better.

Trembling, he stopped his crawl, realizing what he was intending to do. Cutting out the markings was not going to save Fenris. If he tried this, he would end up killing him.

Damian squeezed the knife so tightly it made his knuckles turn white. It would be a last, desperate attempt. And a useless one. Fenris was going to die. Later, from the lyrium, or today, because Hawke had tried to carve the markings out of him.

He could not hasten the inevitable. The thought that he would send Fenris to Danarius' side even a minute sooner than necessary made Damian loosen his grip on the knife handle.

He gagged, but his convulsing stomach was already mostly empty and barely anything came out.

He had tried everything. There were no options left. Again he had failed. Everything... and still  not enough. Damian lay down on the stone floor. As foreseen his anger had burned up and now nothing was left. Closing his eyes, he felt his last hope die. At that moment he did what he had vowed he would never do as long as both he and Fenris still drew breath. Right then, right there, Damian Hawke gave up. 

* * *

Hawke was not the only visitor of the Fade that night. Feynriel sensed his mentor approach his dream before the magister stepped inside.

Claudius eyed the lush, sunny meadow with an amused expression on his face. "It's peaceful, I'll give you that," he remarked dryly.

"I was not expecting visitors."

"You _could_ simply go outside during the day."

Feynriel shrugged, then stretched lazily. "I assume you're not just here to mock my dreams." Usually he was not this impatient with his mentor, but he had had several long days and had been looking forward to a long rest tonight.

Claudius nodded with a frown. "I need to show you something."

Reluctantly Feynriel rose from his comfortable spot in the shade of a large willow tree, suppressing a sigh. "Progress?"

"Indeed." Claudius gestured to the edge of Feynriel's dream, inviting his apprentice to follow him. "The pirate's mind contained some very interesting information."

They left the dream and walked through the Fade as only the spirits normally saw it: shifting and changing, without clear shape or form. Their will was enough to create a path that allowed them to cross this unstable realm.

"Really? Anything on her possible accomplices?" Putting a stop to the pirate raids was a victory for the Imperium. Unfortunately it had been Macarius who had successfully set a trap for the criminals and got to announce to the Senate that his soldiers had captured their leader. Dealing with the brewing unrest among the foreign apostates was now of the utmost importance to strengthen Claudius' position and prevent Macarius from reaping too much profit from this success, but acquiring information pointing to a greater scheme than the actions of a small altruistic group of pirates could be beneficial as well.

Instead of answering, Claudius stopped walking and forced the Fade to bend to his will. Figures emerged from the shadows. A red-headed woman with a very prominent chin and freckles on her cheeks, a dwarf with his dark blond hair tied back in a ponytail carrying a crossbow, a petite elf Feynriel immediately recognized as Dalish by her facial tattoos, another elf -male - with white hair and tattoos like scars covering him from neck to toe. A tall man with auburn hair and beard and piercing light blue eyes. The setting they were in changed quickly, switching from a gathering around a large table with card games, laughing and drinking to bloody battles with taunts and cries of pain.

"I told you I would find proof."

"Lies!" Feynriel stared at the face of the auburn-haired man, a face which had shown up at the times his life had been in danger. It was impossible, unthinkable, that this hero, his savior, would choose the company of scum like the pirate captain they had captured.

"I suggest you watch who you accuse of lying," Claudius warned coldly.

"But..." Feynriel's mind raced to come up with a plausible explanation which did not involve calling his mentor dishonest. "This doesn't have to mean they are in league with each other now. Perhaps it was a temporary alliance. Maybe they have had some fun at the Hanged Man and decided to do a couple of jobs together in Kirkwall."

The scene before him shifted again, getting more detailed. He recognized the harbor of Minrathous. A silent group watched Hawke and Fenris disembark, their faces somber.

"There were years of memories," Claudius said. "This was no temporary alliance. As you can see they only separated when the Fereldan and the slave arrived here."

Feynriel did not reply. The evidence seemed damning, but he refused to believe Hawke would betray him like this. Tevinter was his home. Hawke knew that. He would not come here and pretend to be his friend while secretly trying to undermine the balance in the Imperium, which tended to be precarious at the best of times due to the constant war with the Qunari over Seheron.

Claudius interpreted his silence correctly and snorted in contempt. "Still refusing to open your eyes, I see," he sneered. "I expected as much. That's why I decided to take you with me when I confirm my suspicions. Take a look at him."

The Fade reverted back to a previous image of Hawke's group in what Feynriel had identified as the Hanged Man. Claudius pointed to a man sitting on Hawke's left and whom Feynriel had previously not paid much attention to because he stood out least. His hair had a similar color as that of the dwarf and was tied in a shoddy ponytail too. His face was narrow, with slightly sunken cheeks. The old robes he was wearing suggested he was a mage, like Hawke.

Before he could ask what was supposed to be so special about this man, the Fade changed once again. Blue cracks had appeared in the mage's pale skin. The amber eyes had been consumed by a blinding blue light. Feynriel studied the image with great interest.

"An abomination?" he asked in surprise.

"Looks like it, doesn't it? Now follow me."

Feynriel swallowed back the sarcastic question whether Claudius intended to slander Hawke's name by displaying how poorly he chose his companions and obeyed his mentor's command. It did not take long to reach their destination.

Feynriel shot a look at Claudius. "We both have searched the rebels' camp numerous times. What relevant information could the pirate have about them? It's a completely separate issue."

The stern look Claudius returned made it clear he was only supposed to speak when he was asked to. "Have you noticed the spirit of Justice that is always hanging around here?"

"Yes." Feynriel shrugged. "The creature must have mistakenly judged their cause as just and enjoys rallying them in their sleep or something like that."

"That is what I assumed as well," Claudius replied. "I suspect we were wrong."

The spirit was easy to find amidst the human and elven souls. Still uncertain what his mentor was on about, Feynriel took a closer at the spirit. Until now he had always ignored it, dismissing its presence as a coincidence. After all, spirits and demons were drawn to emotions and these mages undoubtedly believed they were being treated unfairly.

To avoid detection they remained at a considerable distance, and Feynriel had to squint to get a better view of the spirit, but now he focused on it, he noticed two uncommon things. For one, the spirit looked a lot like the blond mage from the pirate's memories he had seen a few moments earlier. He might have been able to come up with an explanation which would allow him to dismiss it as irrelevant, if not for the second anomaly: the spirit had a connection to the physical world, just like the mages surrounding it.

He gasped as his mind connected the dots. "It has possessed that mage!"

One corner of Claudius' mouth lifted in a smirk. "It seems we have finally found our rebel leader."

 _Both the pirate raids and the small army of apostates led by friends of Hawke._ The trouble had started after Hawke had arrived. This could no longer be blamed on coincidence. Hawke was a traitor and had played him for a fool.

Feynriel's hands clenched into fists. Till the very last moment he had believed in the man who had saved him not once, but twice! He had defended him against his mentor, had risked his reputation and position by helping him. And all this time Hawke and Fenris had been part of a plan to undermine the Imperium, the only place where he could ever have a home. The only place where he was accepted and his abilities were appreciated. His home.

He realized Claudius was watching his reaction carefully. "I seem to recall you saying you would give up the foolish support of your hero if I brought you proof of his involvement in actions that threaten the Imperium," the magister remarked.

Feynriel answered the amused calculation of his mentor with cold determination. "I will deal with them personally."


	40. Chapter 40

_"And now I find myself in the company of yet another mage." The white-haired elf with the mysterious markings pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning against and came to stand in front of Damian, blocking his path. "I saw you casting spells inside. I should have realized sooner what you really were." The way he spoke those last four words would make you think he had just found out that Damian spent his free time strangling puppies._

What I am? _he thought with irritation._ And what is that, Serah Fenris? An abomination? A blood mage? Someone who can turn you into a toad?

_Fenris stared at him intently, as if he was trying to read an answer to that question from Damian's face. "Tell me, then: what manner of mage are you? What is it that you seek?"_

And what kind of question is that? _He had agreed to fight a magister for this elf, after having been tricked and used as bait for a small army of slavers, and now he was being interrogated like a criminal - his crime having been born as a mage? Alright, officially he might be a criminal - smuggling was not exactly legal - but Fenris had employed the services of a smuggler himself so he could hardly claim the moral high ground there. And if you asked that magister Danarius, he would undoubtedly say that the elf escaping from his master made him a criminal too. That did not mean it was right._

_Disappointed that Fenris was apparently one of those people who immediately forgot you had helped them once they discovered you were a mage, Damian decided to annoy him instead of answering his stupid question. He smirked faintly. "You want me to tell you and spoil all the fun?"_

_Fenris' reaction was less interesting than he had hoped. "You are skilled, I know that much." He shifted his weight, suddenly appearing a little less stoic. "I imagine I appear ungrateful," he said._

_Damian smiled innocently._ What would give you that idea?

_"If so, I apologize, for nothing could be further from the truth. I did not find Danarius, but I still owe you a debt. Here is all the coin I have, as Anso promised." Fenris retrieved a small purse from a pouch on his belt and handed it to Damian, whose mock-smile melted from his face. Had the elf really just given him all the coin he possessed? For helping to remain free from a cruel master who wanted to strip the lyrium-infused skin from his bones? Damian was not a ruthless cut-throat. Even after Fenris' reaction to his magic he was reluctant to accept payment for his aid, especially if it left the elf without as much as a few coppers for a mug of ale. Judging the weight of the coin purse, the elf had not been wealthy to begin with._

_Damian was still holding the purse in his outstretched hand - about to protest and give it back - when Fenris spoke again, this time avoiding eye contact and focusing on the wall on Damian's right. "Should you find yourself in need of assistance, I would gladly render it."_

_Stunned, Damian lowered his hand. What had inspired this sudden change of heart?_ And here I thought I had failed his "what-kind-of-mage-are-you" test. _Now the elf wanted to stick around and help him? Did Fenris fear that he would be turned into a toad if he tried to get away from Damian now?_ _"You didn't seem all that thrilled with me a moment ago," he said in a voice which sounded slightly more wounded than intended._

_Fenris' large eyes returned to Damian's face. "You are not Danarius," he replied. "Whether you are anything like him remains to be seen."_

Your vote of confidence is heartwarming...

 

_In the end he accepted the elven warrior's offer. It could not be argued that Fenris was skilled in battle and the strange but lethal abilities those markings granted him would undoubtedly come in handy. Damian needed to earn fifty sovereigns and he had to get that coin together fast, before Bartrand found another way to fund his expedition or the darkspawn flooded back into the Deep Roads. If a fighter like Fenris was willing to work with him, Damian was in no position to turn him down. If there was one thing he had learned from his time in indentured servitude it was that your chances of success greatly depended on your team. You had to be able to rely on the people you were with, and they on you. Problem was that Damian did not know whether he could trust the Tevinter fugitive. He had made it very clear what he thought about Damian being a mage. What was to stop the elf from going to the Templars and rat him out? As far as he knew the elf was now broke, and he might earn a reward by turning Damian in. Had he only offered his assistance to avoid raising Damian's suspicions?_

_After two nights and one day of fretting and pondering these questions, Damian decided to have a chat with Fenris and see where they stood. If Fenris really wanted to work with him, they should get to know each other. It would be no good if Damian kept walking around with doubts in his mind._

_The door did not immediately open when Damian knocked. He was about to knock a second time when it finally opened and Fenris peered outside, his greatsword held ready in both hands. The elf's eyes did not look at Damian's face first. Instead they shot to the staff on his back before meeting Damian's gaze. That detail did not escape his attention and - combined with the armed and inhospitable welcome - was enough to spark irritation. He was already regretting coming here._

_"Oh." Fenris lowered his weapon. "It's you." He pulled the door further open , but Damian could clearly see that not all tension had left the man's posture._

_"If you don't want me here I can leave."_

_"No." The word was uttered surprisingly quick, but its apparent earnestness was reduced by a second glance at Damian's staff. Fenris released his hold on his sword with one hand and gestured behind him. "Forgive me my deplorable manners. Please, come in."_

_Damian mimicked Fenris' distrust by staring emphatically at the sword in Fenris' hand. "I think Mother once told me not to come near armed men."_

_Fenris stepped aside and Damian crossed the threshold of the dark mansion. "It was merely a precaution," the elf muttered. "Danarius..."_

_"Will knock first before he enters to skin you for the markings?"_

_A wry smile curled Fenris' mouth. "Doubtful."_

_He climbed the stairs and led Damian to a room which had been made only slightly more livable than the rest of the mansion. A mass of cobwebs and dust still covered every corner and most of the furniture. It appeared Fenris had only bothered with the furniture in the center of the room._

_Upon another inviting gesture from Fenris Damian put his staff away and sat down on the bench closest to the burning hearth. For a moment he stared into the flames, enjoying the warmth on his face. Then Fenris' deep voice drew his attention again._

_"Agreggio Pavali," the elf said. "There are six bottles in the cellar." Damian looked up and saw that Fenris too had put his weapon away and was now raising a wine bottle in one hand. "Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed."_

Sounds like a wonderful fellow. _"Nothing like a bit of fear with your wine."_

_"That's what Danarius used to say."_

_Damian was still wondering whether he had just failed another mage test when Fenris brought the bottle to his mouth, took a few large gulps and proceeded to throw it against the wall where it shattered into a thousand pieces._ Great. Instead of getting run through with a sword I will get my head smashed with a wine bottle.

_"It's good I can still take pleasure in the small things," Fenris said in a satisfied tone._

_"You could have offered me a glass first, you know."_

_A shrug - Fenris' shoulders seemed a little more relaxed now - showed the indifference of his host. "There's more, if you're really interested."_

Must be another test. If I dare to ask for another one of those bottles I will get that one thrown at me. _Damian scoffed and made a throw-away gesture with his right hand. "Perish the thought! How else would you redecorate the walls?"_

 _The low, pleasant chuckle this elicited from Fenris came as a surprise._ Look at that _, Damian thought._ There's a sense of humor in there after all.

_Fenris' laughter lasted a disappointingly short time. Within seconds the smile faded from the elf's face and was overtaken by the more somber look he had worn so far. "I wanted to leave my past behind me. But it won't stay there." He finally sat down, albeit not on the same bench as Damian was sitting on. "Tell me, have you never wanted to return to Ferelden?"_

Well, that came out of nowhere. So did that wine bottle. _It seemed Fenris was the unpredictable type. That could not bode well. "I've started a life here."_

_It was his first genuine answer to one of Fenris' questions, but apparently the elf found it the most offensive one yet. He frowned accusingly. "And that's it? You leave it behind so easily?" he asked, obviously not approving._

First I get chewed out for being a mage, and now for starting anew after Lothering has been swallowed up by the Blight? _What did Fenris know about what he had left behind? What made him conclude it had been easy? He did not know a damn thing! "I lost my sister to the Blight."_

_"And now she no longer matters to you?"_

_For several seconds Damian could only stare at Fenris in disbelief. This rude, judgmental prick of an elf made Uncle Gamlen look like a gentle and polite person. The memory of Mother kneeling next to Bethany's lifeless body was burned into his mind, vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Thinking about it never failed to bring back the paralyzing feeling of helplessness that had made him hesitate for too long upon seeing the ogre. The hesitation that had killed his little sister._

_Damian was about to jump up, sorely tempted to freeze Fenris' balls off and stomp out of this bloody mansion when Fenris shifted uncomfortably and quickly added: "I apologize. Your life is your own, it simply... sounds very familiar."_

_Nostrils flaring, Damian remained seated. Fenris had gone too far. His apology sounded genuine, but no apology should be able to make up for the accusations just thrown at him. Still, there was a certain level of awkwardness about Fenris, despite his brusque manner of speaking and the stoic air of confidence he surrounded himself with. It was subtle, obscured by the elf's guarded manners, but underneath Damian detected uncertainty. It reminded him of himself a year ago, when he and Carver had been the newest members of Athenril's smuggling group. Until then his interaction with people outside of his family had been limited, so it had taken some time to adjust to the company of loud-mouthed smugglers. Damian had resorted to sarcasm instead of hostile snapping, but he recognized the underlying demeanor. If Fenris had really served that Danarius for as long as he could remember, he would be even less familiar with friendly conversations with strangers than Damian ever had been. How long would he have been on the run? Had he been alone all that time? At least Damian had always had the company of his family while they moved from village to village. Maybe the elf could be excused from some of his behavior. Or Fenris was really just an asshole._

_"Sounds like a tough situation," he offered, realizing too late that he was commenting on the outcome of his quiet musings and it would not be clear to Fenris what exactly he was referring to._

_Fenris did seem to get the meaning, and once again the prick had to make his disagreement known. "I'm not made of glass."_

_Damian sighed inwardly. Apparently showing sympathy was not the right approach with Fenris either. And here he had secretly been entertaining the idea of bringing Fenris along on jobs if Carver was in an exceptionally bad mood... Fenris turned out to be even worse than his brother on bad days._

_The tension in the room reached a new high. Fenris shifted again on his bench and then broke the painful silence that was threatening to descend between them. "I should thank you again for helping me against the hunters," he said a little hesitantly. "Had I known Anso would find me a man so capable, I might have asked him to look sooner."_

So I am a mage who may or may not be like his former master, my sister and her death no longer mean anything to me because I started a life in Kirkwall after a year of indentured servitude, but at least I'm also capable! I assume this counts as a compliment meant to diminish the damage of this extremely awkward visit? _"You sound like you're about to ask for a loan."_

_"Well, this mansion does require some upkeep," Fenris retorted._

_Despite his irritation Damian found himself grinning at that._ Sense of humor confirmed.

_Even more remarkably, Fenris answered Damian's smile with one of his own while he got up. "Perhaps I'll practice my flattery for your next visit?" he suggested. "With any luck I'll become better at it."_

_Damian felt his grin widen._ Stop smiling like an idiot! This was not a fun visit! Who says there will be another one? _With some effort he managed to mold his face back to a more solemn expression. He straightened his legs, grabbed his staff and nodded his goodbye to Fenris. Damian was almost out of the door when he recalled why he had come here in the first place. The last remnants of his smile gone, he turned around. "Fenris?"_

_The elf, who had been studying the pattern of footsteps in the layer of dust on the floor, looked up. "Yes?"_

_Damian cleared his throat. "The Templars..."_

_Fenris did not look offended. Instead he appeared amused. "You don't trust me?" he asked with his head tilted to the right and one corner of his mouth raised._

_"About as much as you trust me."_

_The other mouth corner joined the first. "Fair enough." He turned serious. "You were willing to help me fight Danarius while you had every right to walk away. I am in your debt and will not betray you, Hawke. You have my word."_

_Not knowing what else to say, Damian nodded again and took his leave. He almost felt bad for bringing the Templars up and questioning Fenris' sincerity._ You had to be certain, _he told himself._ Fenris has given plenty of reason to doubt his sense of loyalty to a mage.

_When he stepped outside he was still fuming, mad at both himself and Fenris. What had just happened in there? Had Fenris flirted with him? Had he flirted back? How was that possible? Escaped slave or not, Fenris had no right to judge Damian like he had. The memory of Bethany's final moments was still fresh, despite it happening more than a year ago, and Fenris' harsh judgment had made Damian's heart throb with the familiar ache again. Though Fenris had apologized immediately after his remark, and he had thanked Damian again for his help... No, no, that was not enough. The man was a complete prick!_

_And yet in the days after his visit Damian's thoughts more than once returned to the elf sitting alone in that dark, neglected mansion, waiting for his master to return and capture him. With both Carver's and his own patience severely limited after sharing a home with Gamlen for a year, Damian eventually came to see Fenris again. And again. And he discovered that when they did not speak of mages and Templars, and pain from the past haunting them, they actually got along. Fenris really did have a sense of humor, sharp and able to downplay Damian's more open mockery and sarcasm. It turned into a common back-and-forth exchange between them, with Damian doing his best to throw the broody elf off guard with his jokes and - a little later - by openly flirting with him. He started to bring Fenris with him when he went on a job, which always resulted in an argument except when they ran into slavers. Eventually Fenris' eyes did not go to Damian's staff first upon seeing him and slowly they became able to open up to each other and talk about previously forbidden subjects. They discovered a mutual understanding which surprised both of them._

_And that was how Damian Hawke fell in love. Frankly, he had been helpless from the start._

* * *

 

_"I have never spoken about what happened, to anyone. I've never wanted to. You and I don't always agree, but..."_

_"But...?"_

_Another sip from the bottle. Damian watched Fenris' throat work as he downed the last of the Agreggio Pavali. When he stopped drinking, Fenris leaned back in his chair, his eyes suddenly timid and dodging Damian's gaze. "I... have never allowed anyone too close._ _When my markings were created the pain was... extraordinary. And the memory lingers." The intense look Fenris shot him from under his messy white hair managed to heat Damian up from head to toe. He silently hoped his cheeks did not turn bright red. "But you are unlike any man I have ever met. With you it might be different."_

_Suddenly his throat felt very dry. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"_

_Again no eye contact. "If there was someone before, I have no memory of it."_

Liar, liar, liar, liar.

"The lad is rather _skilled_ , isn't he?"

"Do you know what he used to say when I spilled my seed inside him?"

""Thank you, Master.""

Damian squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. Another memory tainted by what he had learned in the Fade. He had been a fool to believe Fenris would ever completely open up to him. Some things could never be spoken of.

He did not want to be reminded of the present. He needed to forget what Danarius had told him, forget where Fenris was now and what would happen to him. 

* * *

 

_"I... may not get the chance to say this again. Meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me, Hawke." A hand securely strapped in a steel gauntlet tenderly caressed his cheek. "Promise me you won't die. I can't bear the thought of living without you."_

_Damian smiled cheekily. "I didn't quite catch that."_

_"Then let me make it clearer for you." Fenris closed a hand around the braid at the back of Damian's head and brought his face close for a kiss, but at the last moment he paused. "Why didn't you save me?"_

_Damian raised his left hand and peeled Fenris' fingers away from his hair. "Spare me your tricks, demon. I am not so easily fooled."_

_Fenris pouted - an interesting sight Damian had never expected to behold - before smirking. "I thought you were enjoying my presence."_

_"I thank you for the chance to relive old memories, but you were about to turn this into something far less pleasant."_

_The demon in Fenris' form stepped back, something Damian had found himself unable to do despite seeing through the deception. It was so good to see Fenris' face again, his eyes filled with affection, his lips speaking of love and ready to offer a simmering kiss. His heart bled at the thought of never having one of these moments again._

_Desire had little trouble reading him. "This doesn't have to be the end," Fenris said softly, his pleading puppy eyes perfected to a form of art. "I can give you many more of these moments with him."_

_"If I surrender to you I still won't get any. You would be the one in control. Nothing is stopping you from breaking your promise and harming him."_

_Fenris looked hurt. "How did I earn this upsetting lack of trust?"_

_"Don't believe anything a demon tells you is rule number one in the mages' handbook," Damian replied flatly. His will to resist had frayed to a fragile thread long ago. By now he was more acting out of a reflex hammered into him since childhood than a sense of self-preservation._

_"I am intrigued by what I have seen," Fenris whispered seductively. "It would be delightful to experience it for myself through your eyes. I want to feel what you feel. Harming your lover is not in my interest."_

_"Can you really save him? Not just keep him alive, but undo the ritual and the damage lyrium poisoning has done to him?"_

_Fenris nodded solemnly. "I can."_

_"How?" Damian demanded. "Even with blood magic I can't-"_

_The demon's throaty laughter interrupted him. "Oh, my poor human," Fenris chuckled. "Even with blood magic you little creatures have no idea what you're doing. Be assured I can save the elf. So, do we have deal?"_

_A final option? A last resort. His soul - or what was left of it - for Fenris' life. What else was there left for him to do? He had always known there would be nothing left worth living for if Fenris died. A fair deal to give up what he would lose anyway._

_"I..." A knocking sound that could not be caused by anything present in the imitation of the Gallows in Kirkwall demanded his attention. Fenris and their surroundings began to fade as Damian's consciousness was pulled back to the real world. He was waking up._

_"No!" Fenris grabbed Damian's arms, his eyes bulging. "Take the deal!"_

* * *

Hawke became aware of his face pressing against the cold floor in the library but he did not move. He did not know how long he had been lying here, had lost all track of time. Again he heard the knocking sound, louder and more clearly this time. Still he did not bother to open his eyes or respond. He wished to return to the Fade, flee back to the comforting embrace of memories of better times.

Whoever stood behind that door disagreed. The third series of knocks was the loudest one yet. Hawke groaned against the stones. "Go away!"

Again he was ignored. Softly the door was opened and Elias' apologetic voice sounded from the hallway. "I apologize for disturbing you, dominus, but you have visitors."

Hawke turned his face the other way. "Send them away." He was in no mood to speak to Feynriel or Claudius, or whoever had decided to torment him.

Scuffling noises and several protesting grunts betrayed a struggle, then the door was yanked further open and heavy footsteps approached. Damian raised his head and had to squint his eyes against the bright light coming through the open door. After all his time in the library with the curtains drawn shut, his eyes had difficulty adjusting to daylight. The first thing he saw was a disgruntled Elias standing next to the open door while a small group of people crowded towards him.

"Apologies, dominus. They forced their way in."

"Damn right we did, broody baldy. It's pouring outside! Hawke, is this how you greet your friends after a long journey?"

Hurriedly Damian pushed himself up and scrambled to his feet. The sudden rush of blood to his legs combined with a recent lack of food and drink almost had him topple over again. He had to reach out for a shelf of one of the bookcases to remain standing. "V-Varric?"

Varric eyed him up and down. "Nug shit, Hawke! You look like... well, shit." He wrinkled his nose. "And you smell like it too."

Clinging to the bookcase, Damian gawked at the dwarf as if he was seeing a ghost. "I... you... I thought I would never see you again!"

"Why would you think that, Hawke?" Merrill exclaimed next to Elias. "We promised we would help you!"

Aveline stepped next to Varric. With his eyes slowly starting to adjust to the light, Damian could see Donnic standing behind her. "We would never abandon you," she said to him.

"B-but I..." He released the shelf and quickly pulled the sleeves of his robes down, realizing the friendly tone of this reunion might change dramatically if they saw his injuries. Even the light contact of the fabric against his self-inflicted cuts was enough to make his eyes water.

"... was such an ass the last time we saw each other?" Aveline calmly finished his sentence. "True, but that's not enough to make me walk away."

Damian's mind was reeling. It was surreal to have all these old friends in the room with him. It seemed like a different life, a dream belonging to somebody else. After his isolation and seemingly endless sequence of eating, sleeping and performing the blood magic ritual, he had no clue how to behave. He might as well be surrounded by strangers.

He looked from one face to the other. They all wore soaked cloaks which were dripping on the floor. "But... why are you here?" he asked in a thin voice. "Have you come to say g..." His ability to speak faltered. He could not say it. Fenris was close to death, and he could not even get the word 'goodbye' over his lips.

"Enchantment!"

The silence that followed this exclamation had Damian shaking. Considering the way his eyes bulged, it would not have surprised him if they had popped out of his head. "You found him?" he breathed eventually.

He staggered forward, shoving Varric, Aveline, Donnic and Merrill aside to get out of the library. His feet connected with empty glass vials along the way, kicking them in random directions. Damian did not remember drinking from them, but he assumed he had consumed all those lyrium potions in an attempt to increase his casting power for the spell. Much of this dark period was little more than a blur.

By the time he reached the door he was out of breath. In the hallway Bodahn and Sandal were waiting for him.

"Messere! Are you feeling alright?"

Damian ignored Bodahn completely. Without greeting the old dwarf he fell on his knees before Sandal and grabbed the simple dwarf by his shoulders. "Can you do it?" he asked urgently. Upon the blank look Sandal gave him in return, Damian shook him firmly. "Can you save him? You have to save him!"

Sandal blinked dully. "Enchantment?"

Damian shook him again. "Tell me! You need to..."

"Enchantment!" This time Sandal's voice sounded shrill with panic upon Hawke's assault.

Somebody placed a hand on Hawke's back. "Easy there, Hawke," Varric coerced. "You're scaring him."

It took another pull at Damian's shoulder to get him to let go of Sandal. "But he... he has to... Fenris..."

"What's going on, Hawke?" Aveline asked from behind him. "What have you been doing in here? Where is Fenris?"

When Damian did not reply, Varric tried to get him to stand up. "We aren't too late, are we?" The dwarf's forehead wrinkled with concern.

"I... I don't know..." Damian turned his head to Elias for aid.

"He's still alive," the old slave notified him with a perfectly emotionless face.

With help from Varric and Elias Hawke got back on his feet. "Then we should not waste time," he grunted. "I'll take you to him."

While he guided his friends to Fenris' bedroom, his battered, tortured heart shook some of the frost out and started beating more vigorously with the promise of new hope.


	41. Chapter 41

"How did you find them?" Hawke asked Varric when he mounted the stairs. "And why did it take so long?"

A scoff was his first reply. "Hey, finding two dwarves in a country as big as Orlais is no mean feat! I'm good, but I'm not _that_ good. My network is more extensive in the Free Marches so I had fewer strings to pull. Besides, if things had been normal we could have just visited the Circles to find our dwarf enchanter but right now you can't say "mage" without ending up in the Templar conflict." Varric scratched his chin. "Speaking of which, Hawke, why did we pass a group of angry-looking Templars marching in the opposite direction on our way here?"

Damian clutched the stairs' rail to pull himself another step up. They were not even halfway and his pace had already slowed to that of a snail. "I have no idea, Varric," he said, trying to mask his heavy breathing. "I haven't been outside in... in a while. I have no idea what they're up to, but they're Templars, so looking angry is just their normal face. It's what they do."

Next to him Varric snickered. "Fair enough. Anyway, when we finally found Sandal and were heading back to Tevinter I got captured by Aveline's long lost sister in Kirkwall, so we had some delay there as well."

Damian stopped his climb. Dazed, he looked over his shoulder at Aveline. "Your... your what?"

Aveline gave Varric a stern look. "I am in no way related to that woman," she said. "Varric is just making things up, as usual. Women do not need to be related to me to be able to wear armor." She ignored Varric's eye-roll, instead looking at Damian's pale face. "Hawke, are you alright? You don't look well."

"I'm fine." Damian tried to run his free hand through his hair but it promptly got stuck in a tangled mess of knots and he ended up struggling to free his fingers. "Just... haven't eaten in a while." He took a deep breath to prepare himself for the remainder of the climb to the next floor, then placed his foot on the next step.

"You sure about that?" Varric quipped playfully. "I was under the impression you had let yourself go a little. Is the food here that good?"

Hawke ignored him, saving his breath for the stairs. Struggling through his dizziness sucked up all his energy.

"Anyway," Varric returned to his dramatic kidnap story, "eventually she fell for my charms and let me go. She was looking for you, actually. Wanted to hear all about you."

"Me? What did she want with me?"

"Apparently she was hoping you could help undo the mess that started in Kirkwall. I almost wish you were there to lend a hand. She sounded pretty stressed."

Damian shot the dwarf a grim look. "You didn't tell her where I was, did you? She probably works for the Templars."

Varric gave him a triumphant smile. "Hawke, what do you take me for?" he asked, pretending to be offended. "I told her we fled into the hills after we had dealt with our beloved Knight-Commander and eventually all of us had to leave your side, tragic as it was. I'm pretty sure she bought it." He paused. "Shame, though," he added, "She seemed earnest."

"They all seem earnest before they drag you into their war."

They finally reached the top of the stairs. Damian suppressed the need to stand still and catch his breath. He turned immediately in the direction of Fenris' room, followed by Varric, Aveline, Merrill, Donnic, Bodahn, Sandal and Elias. As he neared the bedroom his feet sped up. He had to see Fenris, make sure he was still breathing like Elias had said. The sooner Sandal could help him, the better. Who knew how much time his lover had left?

Fenris was still there. Not much seemed to have changed since the last time Hawke had seen him. Still unconscious, the markings spreading their blue light, the collar around his neck. Several steps away from the bed Hawke stopped, his eagerness to get closer replaced by hesitance. Behind him the rest of the group entered the room. Varric came to stand next to him again.

"Maker's breath, Hawke! I wagered it was impossible to look worse than you do at the moment, but Elf here wins with ease."

"He's no longer waking up." It seemed a redundant clarification.

Donnic walked past them, then spun around to look at Hawke. For the first time he opened his mouth. "What's the meaning of this? Why is he chained?!"

Hawke stared past him at Fenris. "The collar suppresses the activity of the markings and prevents him from phasing completely. I hoped it would help block the demons out as well."

Aveline positioned herself on Hawke's left. "And the chains?" she asked.

"He was having more and more trouble with the demons. He was no longer himself. I had to keep him here to protect us both." Truth or lie? Damian considered for a moment, then decided he did not believe it. Not that it mattered.

"Has he tried to attack you again?" a hint of alarm rang in Aveline's voice.

Damian kept his eyes on Fenris. "No," he replied simply. "Not me."

Varric whistled softly. "Looks like we missed quite a story."

Donnic looked like he wanted to say something else, press for more of an explanation, but Damian turned his back on him after spotting Sandal out of the corner of his eye. He took care to hold his sense of urgency back and appear friendly and patient this time. "Sandal?" he asked the dwarf, who was looking up at him with naive blue eyes. "That," he pointed at the bed, "is Fenris. He is very sick because of the lyrium in his skin. Do you think you can do something to help him?"

"Enchantment?"

"Yes, if you know of an enchantment that can help him, you have to use it. The markings are bad. They are poisoning him and that needs to be stopped. I don't know how - maybe they can be disenchanted or you can stabilize them somehow - but... do what you can. Whatever you need to do."

"Enchantment." Sandal waddled on his short legs toward the bed. Hawke watched him with a nervously beating heart. _I'm placing Fenris' faith in the hands of a simpleton,_ he thought. _How do I know whether he's got any clue what he's doing? What if this ends up killing Fenris?_

Aveline read the worry on his face. Softly she squeezed his lower arm as a gesture of encouragement. The pain of her fingers pressing against the unhealed cuts made Damian want to howl in pain. "Why don't you get cleaned up while we wait? It looks like we will be here for a while. A bath will do you good, and you stink."

His whimper could not be prevented. He pulled his aching arm away from her and scowled. "I don't care what I smell like."

A snort from Varric. "But we do."

"I thought my people were exaggerating when they said that humans smell bad," Merrill piped in. "But you really do smell awful, Hawke."

"Bath, now," Aveline ordered him. "And get something to eat. You barely made it up those stairs."

Damian shot another look at Sandal and Fenris. The simple dwarf was staring in awe at Fenris' glowing body, hopping from one foot to the other and enthusiastically clapping his hands. "If something changes..."

"We will let you know immediately," Varric assured him.

Hawke groaned, then turned on his heels. "Fine. I'll be back soon."

Before he had left the room, Elias addressed the two slave women who attended Fenris and had retreated to the other side of the room upon the arrival of the group. "You, go get clean clothes for dominus and food and drink. Make sure he gets everything he needs in the bathroom. And you, bring refreshments for our guests."

The women sped out of the bedroom and past Hawke to do as they were told. Elias followed more calmly.  "Is there anything else you need, dominus?" he asked.

Hawke shook his head. A glance over his shoulder confirmed his suspicion that none of his companions were pleased with this display of obedient slaves.

"Very well, dominus." A bow, then Elias turned left, to the stairs, while Hawke followed the corridor to the right to get to the bathroom.

Danarius' main bathroom was about the size of the living room in the Amell estate, with a pool in the center rather than an ordinary tub. The far wall, opposite of the entrance, was covered with tall mirrors reaching from the floor to the ceiling. As a result there was no escape from his own reflection when Damian opened the door.

For a long, seemingly endless moment he stood frozen in the entrance, trapped by twisted fascination and horror at the silhouette in the mirrors. Eventually control over his legs returned and slowly he stalked closer, cautious as if he expected an attack from his own reflection. Right in front of the mirror he stopped, his face so close to the glass that his breath caused it to fog.

He looked like a walking nightmare.

Little was left of the Champion who had left Kirkwall after the grand battle between mages and Templars. His robes, which used to be a deep, royal blue were covered in filth and stains. The entire left sleeve had been colored nearly black with blood. A large stain of similar origin covered his abdomen and chest where he used to let his arm rest when his soul ventured into the Fade. His hair and beard were even worse: unkempt and greasy, a tangled mass that seemed beyond saving.

And his face... The many days - weeks? Months? - he had spent in the library without sunlight combined with considerable loss of blood had made his skin unhealthily pale, in sharp contrast with the dark purple circles underneath eyes which were burning with something fanatic, something desperate. The repeated binge-eating had left his cheeks puffy. Combined with his filthy beard it made for an altogether unpleasant sight. If someone had told him he had died and clawed his way back from the grave he would have believed it.

Damian had trouble tearing his eyes away from the image. Smashing the mirror so he would no longer have to see it was very tempting. He knew it had to be him who he was seeing, that his eyes could not deceive him like that. But Andrastate's burning behind, he hardly recognized himself! The comments of his friends now felt like gross understatements. Perhaps they were getting out of here at this exact moment, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and this repulsive, bloated wreck of a man. Damian would not blame them.

Thinking about his friends finally allowed him to regain some of his senses. Abruptly he turned his back on the wall of mirrors and pulled his robes over his head. Already the left sleeve was sticking to the cuts in his arm. Inhaling sharply through his teeth he pulled his sore arm free. It hurt even more than Aveline's gentle squeeze.

Without looking he tossed the robes to the side. They were beyond saving anyway. Dreading what he would see this time, Damian lifted his left arm to assess the damage. The pain, fierce as it was, could not have prepared him for the evidence of what he had done to himself. A web of random gashes covered his inner arm, long ones, short ones, shallow, deeper, horizontal, vertical, and any direction in between. Marking their own patch of red, inflamed skin or crossing another line. A similar pattern was visible between the hairs on his outer arm, although there more space was left between the cuts and individual marks were easier to identify. None of them had healed properly yet and most of the deeper ones were still leaking blood or a clear watery liquid. Consequently the skin of the entire affected area had become soft and moist.

His hand was in no better condition. Three diagonal gashes ran from his index finger to his wrist, with the middle one looking the worst. Damian recognized it as the first cut he had made, the one he had cast his first blood magic spells with.

He tried to calm himself but could only manage shallow, panicked breaths. He could not remember making even half of these! Had he really carved his own flesh that often? And had he cast the spell to enter the Fade each time? How was that possible? How long _had_ he been in there?

He did not realize he was stumbling backwards - as if he could escape from his own arm - until his bare back touched the mirror behind him. Had he really been on the verge of making a deal with a demon? Damian could recall feeling himself slipping, abandoning the last memory of resistance. If Varric and the rest had not arrived when they did, if Elias had not been forced to knock on the door... He had given up, surrendered to despair. Now it was difficult to pull himself back from the edge. Sandal represented a new reason to hope, something else to cling to, but Damian found it difficult to keep his newly revived hope alive. And he did not want to think of what he would do if he was once again confronted with the prospect of Fenris' inevitable death.

His right, uninjured hand went to his hair, only to immediately get his fingers stuck in the tangled mess again. Cursing to himself he pulled his hand free. He had to go back to the others. To Fenris. Sandal was another option, one he had almost forgotten due to how implausible it had been that the dwarf could be found in time. Now Sandal was here and Damian had to use that as his reason to carry on. He had been holding on for so long. He could manage a little longer. For Fenris.

Knowing it would be even more impossible to tame the disaster that was his hair when he let it get wet, Damian selected an ivory brush from the elaborate collection of combs, brushes and razors on display in the bathroom to attack the first heap of knots. Upon seeing the razors the cuts in his arm seemed to ooze more blood, as if something was pushing it out as an encouragement, a request to let even more blood flow.

Damian quickly stepped away from the sharp tools. _No more._ Determined to at least reduce his appearance of undead to half dead, he began to brush his hair. It was tempting to glance at the mirror to see what he was doing, but he did not want to look at himself again so he stubbornly kept his eyes on the pool while he tried not to inadvertently tear out hands full of hair.

Eventually, when it was no longer impossible to move the brush three inches without getting stuck, Damian put it aside, removed his boots and smallclothes, and carefully lowered himself in the pool. Due to the clever use of fire runes on the tiles the water was comfortably warm. The stinging of his wounds increasing tenfold was to be expected, but nevertheless he could not stop another pained hiss from escaping from his mouth. Once the worst of the pain had ebbed away, he dunked his head under water, then swam to the other side of the bath to put as much distance between himself and the wall of mirrors as possible.

For a while he soaked in the warm water, leaning his good arm on the edge of the pool and resting his head on top of it. His body slowly started to relax after everything he had put it through.

He was just about to open several of the flasks containing various kinds of perfumed soap when somebody knocked on the door. After a confirmatory grunt one of the slaves who had been present in Fenris' room came in, carrying clean clothes and soft towels over her arms and a plate of food and a jug in her hands. Damian's stomach growled at the delicious smell of fresh bread and he gestured to the slave to bring the food over.

He thanked her when she put the plate and the jug down in front of him, but she kept her eyes lowered and bowed for him before putting the towels and robes away and silently leaving the bathroom. Overcome by thirst and hunger Damian drank eagerly, straight from the jug, then took two large bites from the bread. He chewed hastily before swallowing and immediately took another bite. He had almost swallowed that one down as well when he realized what he was doing. There was no need to eat as fast as possible, stuffing himself to get back to his spell again. His arm throbbed as if to remind him of his merciless schedule, of the prospect of another cut. By now it had become a habit, not requiring any thought. Disgusted with himself, Damian forced himself to eat more slowly and focus on every bite he took. It took more effort than he liked to admit.

Once he had cleared his plate, he finally set about to clean himself. Two bottles of soap later he was convinced nobody would complain about his smell anymore and climbed out of the bath. Damian dared to glance in the mirror again, but despite the overall improvement he still made for a pitiable sight. He quickly got dressed, then checked himself once more, contemplating whether his beard was worth an attempted rescue. Eventually he decided to get rid of it. He had already grabbed a razor and was searching for shaving soap when for the third time that day he was alerted by a knock on the door.

It was a slave girl, not the same as the one who had entered the bathroom before. She bowed before speaking to him. "Master, Feynriel is here and wishes to see you."

"I don't have time for him right now."

The elven girl's eyes widened slightly. "D... do I need to send him away?" she asked nervously. "But he... he was quite insistent, Master."

She looked so afraid at the prospect of telling one of the most powerful mages in Minrathous he had come for nothing that Damian took pity on her. It would probably be nicer to greet Feynriel in person and let him know he had not killed himself with the blood magic ritual. After such a long time without receiving word, Feynriel might very well believe Hawke was dead. Damian could at least let him know that was not the case and that there might be another way to save Fenris. He sighed, and - without thinking - pocketed the razor he was holding in his hand. Shaving would have to wait. "I'll be right there," he assured the slave.


	42. Chapter 42

Damian made his way back to the stairs and down to the entrance hall. With his stomach filled, the worst of the light-headedness disappeared rapidly, but his gait still felt rather unsteady. He kept a hand against the wall or the rail for extra support. When he walked past the door to Fenris' bedroom he slowed down, tempted to step inside and see how things were going. In the end he decided against it and kept walking. He had no idea what Sandal would try to do, but assumed it would not be finished for a while. Showing himself now would only lead to a more rigorous series of questions from his friends. Damian had not decided yet how much he should reveal about everything that had happened in their absence. Maybe after a brief chat with Feynriel his mind would be able to properly handle social interaction again. Right now his only concern remained Fenris' survival and he already knew he would not have sufficient patience to reasonably deal with demands for explanation, clarification and justification of his actions.

Once the slave had reassured herself that Hawke would keep his promise and was going to see Feynriel she disappeared in a different direction. Damian descended from the stairs alone. Near the front door two people were waiting. He recognized the shortest of the two as Feynriel, leaning with his back against the wall and impatiently tapping his foot. For a moment Damian mistook the taller man for Claudius, but as he came closer he realized that could not be right. The unknown man was taller than Claudius, even more than a head taller than Damian, and twice as broad. The hair was a lighter shade of brown and he was not wearing robes. Instead he appeared to wear light armor which left his muscular arms bare.

Upon seeing Hawke approach Feynriel straightened and walked towards him, his face uncommonly grim. Damian in turn froze in the middle of the hall when he spotted the swirling white lines on the arms of the tall man with short, light brown hair. "What in the Void is this?" he demanded. "Is this why you're here? To prove that the word of a magister means nothing? While Claudius was supposed to be working on a way to help Fenris he made a lyrium warrior of his own?!"

Feynriel stopped five steps away from Hawke, considerably farther than the distance between two old friends. "Agnos, come here." The order was spoken without a glance in the slave's direction, but the man - who had not moved from his position near the door since Hawke's arrival - obeyed immediately and came to stand on Feynriel's left side, one step behind his master. He truly was a giant of a man and looked even more massive next to the half-elven mage. The blank, disinterested look on his face made him even more intimidating. He stared off into the distance, over Hawke's head as if tilting his head to look down was too much effort.

Meanwhile Feynriel's eyes did not leave Hawke's face for a moment. "You dare to speak of broken promises to me?" the fair-haired mage hissed.

"What's that supposed to mean? You are the one accompanied by a slave who has underwent the ritual while you told me Claudius was trying to figure out how to help Fenris!"

Hurt flickered across Feynriel's face before his features hardened into a scowl. "Don't act dumb with me. You have played me for a fool far too long! Did you really think we would not figure it out? Did you truly believe you could get away with everything you have done?"

Had Feynriel lost his mind? Had the demons succeeded in messing up his head after all this time? The young man was making no sense at all. "If this is about the blood magic, you knew exactly what I was going to do," Damian reminded Feynriel. "You taught me blood magic and you gave me the book with the spell. I have spent the past days looking for Danarius in the Fade. Nothing else."

"Lies till the very last moment," Feynriel said softly. "Give it up, Hawke! We know everything!"

Damian already had enough of this cryptic bullshit. He had no idea what had gotten Feynriel this upset, and he had the time nor energy to try to figure it out. "Why the fuck are you here, Feynriel?!"

Feynriel squared his shoulders and gave him a cold look. "I am here to arrest you."

"What?" Whatever he would have guessed Feynriel's motivations to be, this was not it. It appeared that at some point during his travels to the Fade the world had stopped making sense. Old, nearly forgotten friends returned and allies turned into foes, all without reason, without a way to understand. "Whatever you think I have done, I am not going with you!"

Instead of answering Feynriel's eyes rolled upwards until only the white of his eyeballs was visible. For maybe two heartbeats Damian hesitated, wondering whether Feynriel was suffering from some kind of seizure. However, the fact that Feynriel remained rigidly upright contradicted that suspicion.

Hawke's hesitation turned out to be fatal. Right before Feynriel's eyes turned back to normal Damian felt what he would describe as a punch in the gut, only did a regular punch not feel like it ripped something out from the inside. No, that was not right. Whatever it was that was affected, it had not disappeared completely. Instead it felt like an iron fist was squeezing it so tightly it was on the verge of being crushed. He doubled over, his senses strangely disoriented. Damian pressed a hand against his stomach to check for injuries but found nothing. The inexplicable hollowness he was feeling left him weak. "What... what did you do?" he wheezed at Feynriel, who stepped closer to him.

"Weakened your connection to the Fade," was the answer. "Of course I could cut you off completely, effectively rendering you tranquil, but that would be letting you off easy."

Hawke leaned with his hands on his knees, unable to stand upright. His senses were oddly dulled, as if his perspective no longer matched and everything came from very far away. Even the panic that roared its head inside of him was numb, lacking its sharp edge.

"I just want to know why," Feynriel said, his voice bitter. "I thought we were friends. Why would you betray me like this?"

Damian groaned, desperately trying to clear his head of the fog which threatened to smother everything. "I... don't know... what you're talking about."

"Stop lying to me!" Feynriel screamed at him. "It's over! We have your pirate friend. We know your abomination is leading the rebel mages. You were behind it all."

"Pirate..?" Damian blinked, a connection slowly forming in his mind. "Isabela? Anders? But..."

"Ah, so that does ring a bell, doesn't it?" Feynriel took another step closer. "Till the very last moment I continued to trust you. I risked myself, my reputation and position to help you! And all this time you were busy trying to destroy my world around me. I can't believe I looked up to you. You... you were my hero. I kept asking myself why you would do this, why you would bother to save me only to turn on me now." He inhaled deeply. "I think I have figured it out. Now I see that you are not a hero at all. You're just a... a sad man who needs others to admire his great deeds. Whether those deeds are actually just is irrelevant. As long as the plebs love it. I was just lucky I was on the right side in your eyes twice, before finally ending up on the wrong one. Kirkwall was practically destroyed, so you needed a new target, a new place to cleanse from corruption. And what would be better than the mighty Tevinter? To get rid of slavery and inequality among mages, what a victory!"

Hawke sank to one knee. His chest heaved as if deep breaths would get rid of that invisible fist holding on tightly inside his chest. Thanks to Feynriel's explanation he knew it was his magic that was being squeezed so mercilessly. He had been born with his powers. He did not know any better than that they would be there. To be on the verge of losing them was terrifying and disorienting. "I swear I know nothing of Isabela's or Anders' plans," he whispered to the floor. "They are not working for me."

Two more steps closed the last distance between them. Ignoring Hawke's claim of innocence, Feynriel's voice sounded from above him: "The Imperium cannot be defeated, not even by the Champion of Kirkwall, slayer of the Arishok. You are nothing against us, and soon the entire city will see that. We will show those stubborn apostates that their beloved freedom fighter is powerless before us." Feynriel leaned forward to bring his face close to Hawke's. "You will be executed before their eyes. A final warning for them to leave while they still can." He paused. "I received word that several of your accomplices just arrived as well. The executioner will be busy. Now, let's collect Fenris and-"

Without warning Damian's fist swung up and connected with Feynriel's face, hitting the other man right on the chin. Feynriel's teeth rattled audibly from the blow. His eyes rolled up again, but this time it was not for a quick trip to the Fade. Without making another sound he collapsed on the floor. Damian felt the hold of the invisible fist loosen, but it did not disappear entirely. _Turns out there are advantages to growing up with a brother who has no magic._

While pushing himself up from his crouching position, Damian's head whipped up to see what Feynriel's gigantic lyrium-infused bodyguard would do now that Hawke had punched his master knock-out. He prepared himself for a fight in which he would be at an extreme disadvantage, but Agnos made no move to attack. The slave remained in his spot, arms by his side, and stared straight ahead, completely ignoring Hawke. Damian carefully took a step back, still convinced this brute would be on him in a moment.

Nothing happened. The intimidating warrior stayed where he was, seemingly oblivious to what had just occurred in front of him. After several more steps backwards, Damian turned around - cursing and rubbing his sore knuckles - and started running. He dared to shoot a look over his shoulder when he was partially up the stairs and his speed threatened to slow down to a crawl, but Agnos still did not even look at him. _Some bodyguard that is._ As fast as he could -which turned out to be embarrassingly slow - Damian ascended the remainder of the stairs and ran back to warn the others of the danger that had just come knocking. 

* * *

When Hawke burst into the bedroom and smacked the door shut behind him everybody looked up with a startled look on their face. Damian leaned heavily against the door and tried to catch his breath while also attempting to speak. "We... we've got to get... out of here."

They were all immediately on their feet. "What's wrong, Hawke?" Varric asked bewildered. The others echoed the same question.

Damian ignored them and began to rifle through his pockets. That odd numbness inside of him had to go. He needed his magic, all of it. He could not bear this crushing hold on his power. His magic - his blood - needed to flow without restrictions.

He could not find his old knife, but his fingers did close around the razor he had taken from the bathroom. Without further consideration he withdrew the razor from his pocket and carved in the biggest cut in the palm of his hand.

The alarmed cries and collective gasp that resounded in the room hardly got through to Damian. He could sense the power in his blood, but it was not the excitingly overwhelming rush he was used to. It had been reduced to a meager trickle. He tried to harness its power, tried to pull at it and force it to expand, but the invisible hold on it did not budge. He was able to cast minor spells, but their strength would be severely limited. "Shit!" he exclaimed. "The bastard cut me off! I should have killed him when I had the chance!"

"What are you doing?!" He barely had the chance to look up before Aveline was standing in front of him and grabbed his left wrist. She forced his arm up so the wide sleeve dropped and revealed his injured arm. Abruptly she let go. "Oh, _Hawke._ "

Damian cradled his bleeding arm against his chest. "What does it look like?" he snapped irritably.

"Blood magic?" Donnic came to stand next to his wife and made a move to unsheathe his sword, but Aveline reached out to stop him.

"Why would you do this?" she asked Hawke. She looked genuinely disappointed.

Once he would have shriveled up in shame under her gaze. Now Damian Hawke met Aveline's eyes with a flat look. "Why?" he repeated. "To fit in with the magisters, of course! The group discount you get when you join is pretty impressive."

She bristled at that. "This isn't funny!"

"Then don't ask! You know very well why!"

All eyes briefly went to Fenris - who was still lying on the bed and whose condition appeared to have remained unchanged - before returning to Hawke. Aveline shook her head, more a gesture of defeat than disapproval. "Was it worth it?"

Damian stared at Fenris over Varric's head. "I don't know," he admitted. "I was out of options. I had to try. That's enough."

Donnic pulled Aveline a step back. "Aveline," he said in an urgent tone. "Clearly there is more going on here than we could have anticipated. Blood magic, slaves, Fenris in chains... I don't like this."

Damian, still leaning against the door, turned his head towards Donnic. "I am fairly certain I can still set you on fire," he said calmly. "It might only be your sideburns, but I'm sure it will hurt."

The way the knuckles of the hand on the hilt of his sword whitened betrayed how Donnic tightened his grip.

"Hawke!" Aveline looked like she wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "Don't make this worse."

"Worse? There is very little that could make this situation worse, and this is not it."

They were wasting time. He knew they had to get out of here and find a place to hide before it was too late. Feynriel and the other magisters would not give up. But whatever Feynriel had done to his magic affected his emotions and the feeling of urgency he should be experiencing had reduced in intensity.

"You might not care, but to some of us blood magic is still the power of evil," Donnic growled. "This is exactly why the Circles should never have fallen! Those who practice it cannot be trusted."

"I was never in the Circle, so that would not solve your problem. Sorry."

"You-"

"Leave him alone!" Merrill chirped shrilly. "Blood magic is magic like any other kind, and he's only been trying to help Fenris."

Her round, innocent eyes widened at Hawke's joyless chuckle. "No," he laughed. "No, it's not. Don't say you've never felt it, Merrill. You must have felt it. The pain, the... the darkness taking over... this magic is something else entirely."

Varric cleared his throat to prevent Merrill, Donnic or Aveline from continuing the argument. "The dwarf here is lost after all this talk about magic and is still stuck on the part that we need to get out of here. Hawke, you said some bastard "cut you off". Two questions: who is the bastard and what does that mean?"

Grateful for the chance to focus on this more relevant topic, Damian straightened his back and abandoned the support of the door. "Feynriel. He came here to arrest me and somehow he was able to limit my connection to the Fade to weaken my magic."

"Okay..." Varric did not appear to find that answer very enlightening. "Next question: why?"

"Can we save the "who, what, why" conversation for later? The point is that I managed to knock him out but it's only a matter of time before he or one of the magisters will barge in here to arrest us. How is Fenris? Has Sandal done anything yet?"

"We were still busy with the preparations, messere," Bodahn replied.

"Then we will have to do it somewhere else. If we have to transport Fenris in this state we will probably not make it very far." Damian contemplated for a few moments, weighing their options. "We need a place to hide so Sandal has the time to do what he needs to do." His face brightened. "And I know where. Let's go. Take your belongings with you. It's unlikely we can go back."

"Where are we going?" Merrill asked in a timid voice. It was clear Hawke's reaction to her attempt to defend blood magic still did not sit well with her. Uncertainty and hesitation held the others in their grip as well.

Damian walked to the bed, put the razor back in his pocket and bent over Fenris to look at the collar around his neck. "There's a secret room in the cellars," he said while running his fingers over the runes. His left hand left bloody traces on the shiny metal. "It's where Danarius conducted the ritual on Fenris and hid his notes about the experiment. The magisters don't know of its existence, so we should be safe there."

He forced a stream of magic through the relevant rune, silently hoping it would be strong enough. With a soft click the collar opened. Immediately the glow of the markings intensified, their light so bright it had Damian squinting.

He straightened, giving Donnic a pointed look, who chose to ignore it. "I will carry him," the former guard announced instead.

Damian wanted to protest but quickly changed his mind. With all the weight Fenris had lost he would not be heavy to lift, but Hawke had to admit it would still be risky for him to insist on carrying Fenris all the way down to the ritual chamber. He was not exactly in great shape himself at the moment. So he just nodded and stepped back to give Donnic enough space. Looking at Fenris' bare arms, legs and chest after Donnic had lifted him off the bed, Damian grabbed the sheets and pulled them from the bed. He remembered the ritual chamber being not the most comfortable place in the mansion. They would need something to cover Fenris up and keep him warm. Around him everybody was busy gathering their belongings. Bodahn put the enchantment apparatus in its bag and hoisted it over his shoulder. Merrill collected everyone's cloaks, while Varric stuffed several of the fresh pastries the slaves must have brought them in his pockets. Soon enough they were ready and followed Hawke out of the bedroom.

He avoided the central stairs that would take them to the hallway and - presumably - an unconscious Feynriel and idle Agnos. Instead he took one of the servants' stairs and the corridors Fenris had also used when guiding them to the hidden room. They stayed quiet along the way, careful not to alert others to their presence. Damian was beginning to get used to the sensation of his powers being forcefully reduced, so he no longer felt as disoriented as he had earlier. Still, the painful stinging and throbbing of his arm and hand reminded him of what he had lost so suddenly and made him feel vulnerable. Blood flowed uselessly from his wounds, its power wasted. Too late he realized he was making stains on the white sheets he was carrying.

His companions murmured in surprise when they reached the cellar and Damian pushed the old tapestry with the Chantry symbol aside to reveal the hidden passage. It took him a while to find the right stone to open the secret door to the ritual chamber, but eventually the stone wall shifted and opened the way.

Hawke spread the sheets on the floor on the far side of the room and Donnic carefully lay Fenris down on them. While the rest of the group entered the small room, Damian looked around. Everything appeared to be in the same state he had last seen it in. The magical orbs spread their glow over the few pieces of furniture and the mysterious symbols that had been drawn on the floor. He gestured to Sandal to walk over to him. "Hey, Sandal, look at these."

The dwarf's eyes obediently followed Hawke's pointing finger. "This was used to create the markings." Damian pointed at Fenris. "Do you understand? I don't know if that helps, but just in case..."

Sandal studied the runes and lines on the stones - or at least gave the impression he was - and nodded. "Enchantment!"

Damian sighed, frustrated by the dwarf's inability to communicate properly. He still had no idea whether Sandal had any clue about what to do and if he was capable of helping. "Just... get to work," he muttered before sitting down with his back against a wall.

"Nice place," Varric remarked dryly. "How did you and Elf get to live here again?"  
"I dueled and killed the magister who got to live here after Danarius for it."

Varric gave him a wide-eyed stare. "You're shitting me. Are you saying you cheated me out of witnessing _another_ duel?! Maker's breath, Hawke! You're sabotaging my story here!"

"You were there when we fought another magister," Damian reminded him. "This one wasn't so different. He secretly used blood magic by hiding an injured slave among the crowd. Fenris had to kill her to make him lose his source of blood."

Then he and Fenris had still been a team, taking on the magisters of Tevinter as one. The kiss they had shared in front of half the city when the duel had been won Damian would never forget. Or maybe he was being too optimistic when he thought about the duel. The distrust and more heated arguments had started then as well. Fenris had not been pleased when Damian had accepted the terms for the duel and had been even more furious when he learned he would likely have to kill a slave to ensure their victory.

Varric's disgruntled muttering pulled him back to the present. "You owe me a detailed description. Now, back to my other questions: why does the dreamy mage hate you now? Didn't we help this guy?"

Damian rubbed his temples, watching Bodahn and Sandal set up the enchantment apparatus while he answered. "I'm not sure. Apparently the magisters have Isabela and she has done something to piss them off. They believe she operated under my orders, so now they want me - and you all for good measure - executed. Which brings me to a question of my own: did any of you know what Isabela was up to?"

"She was rather vague about her plans," Aveline replied. "But she did hint at "business" near Tevinter."

"Great," he sighed. "Well, now her "business" has been cut short and has us in trouble. And I have another surprise for you. Feynriel mentioned "my abomination", which can mean only one thing: Anders is here."

"Blondie?" Varric asked in disbelief. "What could he be up to?"

"Many of the mages who used to live in the Circle have fled here, but the magisters refuse to let them enter the Circle of Minrathous. My execution is supposed to be their final warning that they have to bugger off. Sounds like the perfect circumstances for Vengeance. Feynriel said he's leading the mages."

"I thought we would never see him again," Aveline said softly.

"Sounds like that is where those Templars were headed," Donnic added.

"I don't understand." Merrill looked from one to the other. "Why would the magisters not want those mages here? They are mages themselves!"

"The magisters are not fond of competition, Merrill." Damian was still staring at Fenris and Sandal. Sandal was now tinkering with the enchantment device, cheerfully humming  a random tune. He was about to turn his attention back to the conversation around him, in which everybody expressed their shock and surprise at Isabela's capture and Anders unexpected presence, when the dwarf took a thin needle and began to etch something in Fenris' right wrist.

"Wait! What are you doing?!" Damian wanted to get up, but Bodahn stepped in front of him to block his path.

"Messere, please," he said. "I don't know what the boy is doing either, but I am sure of it that he would never hurt serah Fenris if it was not absolutely necessary."

Damian swallowed, his eyes darting back to Sandal, who moved on to Fenris' feet. He clenched his sore hand into a fist, then nodded to Bodahn. The merchant stepped away with a relieved look on his face.

Damian turned his left arm so the palm of his hand was facing upwards and slowly relaxed his fist. His fingers and most of his hand had been colored red again and were feeling sticky.

"Ugh, Hawke, could you please heal that mess?" Aveline wrinkled her nose in disgust.

He did not look up. "Can't."

"Why not?"

"Not enough magic."

She folded her arms. "You could have healed it before, but you didn't. Why keep it like this? It will get infected!"

"Because it was not necessary." An irritably tapping foot indicated elaboration was desired. Reluctantly Damian raised his head to look at Aveline. "I haven't bothered to try, but blood magic seems to have messed up my healing ability. The last time I used a healing spell it took a lot of effort before I had control over it. Cuts that have been used to fuel blood magic also become different from ordinary wounds, and I don't think they can be healed by magical means."

"Are you sure?"

A shrug. "Merrill can't heal either."

"Hawke..."

"Just look at the other one if it bothers you." He waved his right hand. "That one's fine. See?"

"You're obviously not fine."

He turned his head away and focused on Sandal again. The simple dwarf got up after finishing with an inscription in Fenris' neck. A tiny stream of blood trickled from the etched pattern. Damian felt he should be more afraid. Or excited. Instead he was mostly tired. Tired and numb, empty.

Sandal scuttled back and forth, picking up shiny tools from the enchantment apparatus, using them on Fenris for some unknown purpose, and putting them back. Whatever he was doing, he seemed to focus on the eight markings he had made: one on each wrist, one on the dorsal side of each foot, and two on the neck, right under the jaw. Damian could not see what they were supposed to represent, but he assumed they were runes.

When it became clear Hawke would not respond to further attempts at conversation and ignored all questions directed at him, the room became quiet. They all watched Sandal as he worked. Watched and waited.

Then, as suddenly as blowing out a candle, Fenris' markings stopped glowing. Damian blinked, surprised by the unexpected disappearance of their brightest source of light. Because he had been looking at Fenris his eyes needed time to adjust to the more dim environment.

If he had believed he was no longer capable of feeling much of anything, he was now proven wrong. The panic at the realization of what the sudden inactivity of the markings could mean broke right through the looming tranquility. Its intensity had him shaking.

Hurriedly Damian scrambled towards Sandal, not allowing himself the chance to stand up. "What did you do?" he asked urgently. "Did you kill him?! Tell me you didn't just kill him!"

Sandal cocked his head at him, not understanding what all the fuss was about. "Not enchantment?"

"No!" Damian cried out. "He was not just some enchantment! Why did I let you near him? You..." The remainder of his words - and his intents to strangle the retarded dwarf - died on his lips. In the dim light he could have sworn he had seen movement behind Sandal.

Promptly forgetting about the dwarf, Damian crawled towards the sheets and the elf lying on top of them. He reached out a trembling hand to check Fenris' pulse, or to simply touch him, to feel if there was still life in that frail frame, but at the last moment he withdrew it. He was terrified his eyes had been playing tricks on him and that his mind had conjured up what he wanted to see.

"Fenris?" It could hardly qualify as a whisper, his mouth barely able to produce sound with the way he was holding his breath.

Time went by, each second stretched endlessly. Damian was starting to feel dizzy, but his lungs still refused to work. Then, right before he gave up and despair swallowed him whole, he saw it: Fenris' fingers moved. It was merely a twitch, a reflexive movement without conscious control, but it was unmistakable. This was not a product of his imagination. Fenris had moved.

And then Fenris' eyes opened. They were bloodshot, the white around his irises had colored red because the lyrium had damaged the capillaries, but to Damian those dark green gems were still the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

"Fenris!" the name rushed out with the air he had been holding in his lungs. "Oh, thank the..." He did not know who or what he could thank for this. The immense relief that washed over Damian left him nearly speechless, so instead of wasting effort on words he dove forward and pulled Fenris into a firm hug.

Oh, he could feel all his bones! Fenris had become so thin! But that was alright. Lost weight could be reclaimed, whereas life could not. And Fenris was alive. That was all that mattered now. "I was so worried. How are you feeling?"

Fenris was stiff and uncomfortable in his embrace. He was mostly held up by Damian's arms, his abdominal muscles no longer strong enough to force his upper body up and keep it there. His voice sounded as frail as he looked. "I'm fine, Master. I am sorry I worried you."

Damian laughed through the tears of relief that filled his eyes. "Okay, I deserved that. I know you're probably furious with me. You can scorn me for the chains later. Right now I'm just so glad you're alive. I thought I had lost you!"

"I would never leave you, Master."

Damian froze briefly, then slowly loosened his hold on Fenris and pulled back. He tried to make eye contact, to see if Fenris was joking and using the word "master" to punish him, but Fenris held his eyes downcast. Occasionally they darted across the room, from the floor to the furniture and from the furniture to the faces of the companions who had crowded around them. There was no sign of recognition in his gaze.

Feeling his relief evaporating, Damian let go of the elf completely. "Fenris?"

Varric's hesitant voice resounded from behind. "I don't think he's faking it."


	43. Chapter 43

The sharp edge of a blade was pushed against Hawke's throat, just above his Adam's apple. He blinked twice, leaned back slightly to ease the pressure but otherwise showed no surprise or fear.

"What have you done to him?" Donnic's voice shook.

"Nothing." Damian watched Fenris' attempts to sit upright without the force of Damian's hug supporting him. With skinny, shaky arms he pushed his upper body up and shifted his weight so he could fold his legs under him. The display was so clumsy and frail that Damian found it difficult to believe this man had been a formidable warrior not even a year ago.

"You lie, Serah," Donnic accused him. "You have multiple slaves serving you here, you live as a magister in one of their the mansions. Fenris was chained when we found him and now he refers to you as master. You have made no secret of having turned to blood magic. Do you expect us to ignore all these facts and take you on your word when you say you are innocent?"

"It's the lyrium poisoning." Damian swallowed - and immediately regretted it because of how his Adam's apple scraped against Donnic's sword - and briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them again he continued: "The markings started to fall apart a while ago. Whatever used to protect Fenris from the markings' toxicity failed with everything else and it has damaged his mind."

 _Damaged his mind._ Save one thing, lose the other. It appeared Sandal had managed to free Fenris from the relentless pull of the Fade, but even the dwarven savant could not undo the effects of the lyrium in Fenris' bloodstream.

"And you know this how?"

"Heh," Damian chuckled, but quickly stopped when Donnic pressed the sword more firmly against his throat. "I have read every book, every document, every fucking piece of parchment that contained information about lyrium. I know everything it can be used for, I know how much the magisters have paid for all their lyrium in the last century, I know every theory about what lyrium is and how it is connected to the Fade, magic and mages. I have learned every possible side-effect that can result from exposure to lyrium. I have seen it first-hand as well, back when I worked as a smuggler. Look at his skin and his eyes. That's... that's caused by the lyrium. Peeling and blistering of the skin, damage to the capillaries in the eyes... and memory loss and even dementia."

The pressure of the sword at his throat did not ease. "Fix it," Donnic ordered.

"I _can't_." Damian looked at Fenris, who tried to sit as still as possible but had started shivering in the cool room. Goosebumps appeared everywhere on his rough, flaking skin. Damian realized he had forgotten to bring clothes for him. Fenris appeared torn between keeping his eyes on the stone floor and staring at Hawke. He obviously had no clue what was going on.

"Can't or won't?"

The sword pushed his beard against his neck, but that did not offer much protection against the sharp steel. The sensation of that lingering moment right before the cut, right before blood would flow was entrancing. A little more force and skin would split open, releasing the power that waited underneath. Damian inhaled deeply through his nose, reminding himself that he would gain nothing with this cut. He had had enough. Thinking clearly was hard enough already. The absence of so much of his mana made him feel vulnerable and afraid, and magnified the urge to heed the call of the power lurking in his blood. Except even that wonderful power had been nearly nullified by Feynriel's blasted dreamer trick. His magic was close to useless now. But worst of all Fenris was sitting right in front of him, finally awake, and there was no angry scowl, no furious tirade in sight. Mere minutes ago Damian had silently been wishing for a miracle, that Fenris would not be mad at him, that they could leave all their arguments and disagreements behind and start fresh. Now he would gladly trade this demure Fenris for one who was capable of ripping his heart out in anger.

Through gritted teeth he said: "I already explained that Feynriel cut me off from most of my magic, _and_ that my healing magic hasn't been working as it should. Those two factors combined means it is impossible for me to heal a stubbed toe at the moment. And even if I had my powers back and I could cast a proper healing spell, I doubt it would help. Lyrium poisoning cannot be undone. I tried to heal Fenris when I first noticed the signs, but I could not find anything to focus my magic on. That was when I just tried to mend his skin. The mind is another matter entirely. The only magic I have heard of that can bring about a lasting change in the mind is blood magic, and I doubt you want me to try _that_. Now, I know I haven't had the chance to shave but I kindly refuse your offer of trimming my beard for me. So. Get. That. Sword. Away. From. Me."

"Donnic, dear." Aveline tried to sound soothing but could not mask the discomfort in her voice. "This is not going to achieve anything. Please let's all calm down before we do anything rash."

"Oh, you're still here," Damian remarked sarcastically. "I thought you had all left, considering how nobody said anything when your dear husband put a sword at my throat."

"I'm sorry, Hawke. I think we're all a little uncertain how to handle this situation. Donnic, put that away."

Damian could sense Donnic's hesitation in the way the blade stilled for a few seconds before it was finally pulled away and he heard the sound of steel gliding back in its scabbard.

"Merrill, do you know if it's true what Hawke said about lyrium poisoning?" Aveline asked behind him.

"I'm not sure. My people don't usually work with lyrium. The durgen'len mostly trade with humans. But I have heard that it's very dangerous, especially for mages."

"Fenris is not a mage," Donnic needlessly reminded them.

"No, or he would have been dead already." Hawke did not bother to turn around for their conversation. Instead he leaned toward the still shivering Fenris and carefully pulled the sheet the elf was sitting on over his back. Instinctively Fenris' hands grabbed the edge of the sheet to wrap it more tightly around himself. Damian tried to smile a friendly smile when Fenris looked up at him, but he feared he only looked like Fenris was the greatest disappointment in his entire life.

"Thank you, Master."

 _Stop calling me that!_ Damian wanted to scream it but he restrained himself. It would not help. It would be better to determine how much of Fenris' memory had been lost. "What is your name?" he asked.

"Fenris, Master."

_Fenris. Not Leto. I suppose that's good... but I already called him by his name before, so perhaps he's just saying what he thinks I want to hear._

He was afraid of the potential answer to every other question he could ask. Eventually he decided on one of the easier ones. "Do you know my name?"

_Please don't say Danarius. Please don't say Danarius. Please please please please._

"Master?" Fenris looked even more agitated now that he did not know the answer.

Damian could only stare at Fenris for a while, his ability to formulate words abandoning him. Looking into those familiar eyes without detecting any sign of recognition in them was enough to numb the last of his relief about the fact that Fenris was alive. Everything was gone. Fenris did not even remember his name! Their first meeting, the arguments, discussions and debates, Fenris confessing how he had managed to escape after killing the Fog Warriors, the reading lessons, the battles against Hadriana and Danarius, the first time they had kissed and spent the night together, when Fenris finally - _finally_ \- admitted that he loved him... The lyrium had wiped it all away.

Damian did not feel the need to cry. He hardly felt anything anymore. Only pain. This was it. For months he had searched for a way to fix the instability of the markings. Now the solution had finally been found. Fenris was saved. He would live. Everything else was minor compared to that. He would accept that. He could live with that. He had to. But _damn it,_ it hurt. It hurt more than his bloody arm, more than the knowledge he had irrevocably destroyed a part of himself in an attempt to save Fenris, more than the loss of his family. Only one thing would have hurt more. There was no room for anything but pain inside of him. It squashed the sadness, relief and the sense of loss all the same and added it to the pain. But he would live with it. He would turn it into acceptance, resignation - which was basically just another form of chronic pain - and bear it. Because Fenris was alive.

Varric placed a hand on his shoulder. "You okay there, Hawke?"

Damian shrugged him off. "My name is Hawke," he told Fenris. "Damian Hawke. Does that... sound familiar?"

"I... yes, of course, Master. I apologize. I was not thinking clearly."

  1. But why then did his mouth feel so dry? "You can call me by my name, Fenris. I am not your master."



Fenris' agitation turned into fear. "Are you going to sell me, Master?"

"No, no, of course not," Damian hastened to say. "Nobody is selling or buying you. You're not a slave. You're free."

Fear turned into panic. "Please don't cast me out, Master! I beg you! I will serve you better from now on, I promise. Please don't send me away."

 _Resignation_. More pain? Where did that come from? Had Donnic decided to stab him from behind? No, there was nothing to see. No new wound. Not a visible one, anyway. "Calm down! Hey, listen to me, Fenris. I'm not going to kick you out. You'll stay with us. I swear."

So far Fenris had assigned his own interpretation to everything Hawke had said, but this seemed to calm him a little. His breathing became more even again and his shoulders slumped under the sheet. "Thank you, Master."

Damian got on his feet. He could no longer look into those eyes. Green and red, red as blood. Could his blood wash away the damage that had been done? Was there a magic that could reverse the effects of the lyrium poisoning? At the moment there was no point in considering it. His abilities were far too limited now. He would have to find a way to deal with that as well.

"Hawke." Merrill cautiously touched his right hand. "Are you alright?"

"It's fine, Merrill," he said with a sigh. "I'm fine. I just need to... I-I need a moment. I need to think."

Varric scratched the exposed part of his chest. "Don't mean to pressure, but what's our plan? How are we going to free Rivaini and get out of here?"

Hawke turned to his old dwarven friend. "We don't."

Varric made no effort to hide his confusion. "Ey? No offense, this place looks even better than your old home in Hightown, but I cannot see us staying here. And I have a good imagination."

"We are going to leave, but we are not going on a rescue mission for Isabela."

"What? But-"

"Hawke, are you sure?"

"Damned sure, Aveline. First of all I don't even know where she is. I have no idea whether the magisters have some kind of special prison, but if they do you can be certain it will be well-guarded. My magic has been neutered and Fenris is in no condition to fight. Isabela knew the dangers of what she was doing. She knew it could cause problems for Fenris and me while we were in Tevinter, and yet she went through with it and didn't even warn me about her plans. I am _not_ going to risk Fenris' life in a hopeless assault to release her from the claws of the magisters."

"But we have to help her!" Merrill's eyes were brimming with tears.

Damian made a frustrated gesture. "Look, if any of you have some kind of plan with a decent chance it will work out well, I will gladly hear it. You're also free to go on this adventure on your own. I won't stop you. I'm grateful you came all the way here for Fenris. I owe you all for that, but I don't see what I can do for Isabela."

A heavy silence fell over the ritual chamber. Tensed glances were exchanged while nobody spoke up.

"I thought so." Damian ran a hand through his hair. "Fenris needs to eat and drink. Varric, I think you brought some?"

Varric nodded and retrieved two pastries from his pockets. He was about to go to Fenris to give them to him when Damian jumped at the sound of a voice which belonged to nobody in the room.

_"Playing hide and seek now, are we? Face it, Hawke, soon your games will be over. We will turn this place upside down and we will find you. Save us both the time and effort and come out. Are you afraid to face me?"_

"What's the matter?" Varric inquired with a look on his face that made it clear he was starting to doubt Hawke's sanity.

"It seems our own problem has just regained consciousness," Damian replied. "Feynriel is searching for us."

"Will we be safe here?"

He nodded. "We should be. They won't find this place anytime soon. Nobody knows of its exi..." He interrupted himself with a curse. "Oh, shit! Elias!"

His outcry was met with confused looks from the others. "Who's Elias?" Aveline asked him.

"The sl... man who let you in."

Varric snickered. "I wouldn't put it that way. "Tried to keep us out and shut the door in our face" would be more accurate."

Damian rubbed his neck. "Yes, well, he knows where this room is. He is the one who showed it to Fenris in the first place. If Feynriel gets the location out of him and traps us here, we're doomed."

"Would he betray you?"

"I have honestly no idea. I got the impression Elias is not one of my admirers. I think he liked his work more when he was serving a real magister. Even if he tries to stay quiet, Feynriel will undoubtedly have methods to get the information he wants. We have to find him before Feynriel does."

The others nodded their agreement. Damian looked at their faces and tried to determine who he should take with him. It was mostly Donnic and his outright hostile behavior which made him hesitate. He had little experience with fighting by Donnic's side and doubted the former guardsman was very motivated to keep him out of harm's way, which was problematic now that lighting a candle would be an impressive feat for his powers, but he also did not want to leave Donnic alone with Fenris.

Eventually he decided it was more important to have someone he trusted stay with Fenris. "Aveline," he said, "you, Bodahn and Sandal stay here with Fenris while the rest of go look for Elias."

A confirmatory nod. "Very well. Be careful."

Merrill, Varric and Donnic readied their weapons. They looked as grim as Damian felt. "Come," Donnic growled. "Let's find your other slave."


	44. Chapter 44

They tiptoed through the secret passage, with Damian - much to his dismay - first. Being the first target of whoever they would run into was not a reassuring idea with his magic neutered. He halted when they reached the old tapestry, listening intently for any sound that would betray the presence of others in the cellar. Everything was quiet; not even the noise of scurrying rats could be heard, something which could not have been said for the cellars of his estate back in Kirkwall. With a tunnel leading to the sewers in Darktown it had been impossible to keep the hairy vermin out, despite Bodahn's best efforts.

After half a minute of complete silence Damian pulled the tapestry aside and peered into the cellar. His eyes supported the conclusion he had already drawn based on his ears: there was nobody to be seen.

"Everything is clear," he informed the others in a hushed voice while stepping into the cellar.

Donnic, Merrill and Varric came from behind the tapestry with the Chantry symbol one by one. When they were all standing in the cellar, Varric asked the obvious question: "Where are we going now? Any idea where this Elias will be?"

Frustrated, Damian shook his head. "I don't know. Usually he is the one to sneak up on me." He tried to recall a situation in which he had been the one to find Elias but could not think of any. He had never had to search for him. The elf had always popped up regularly to ask whether there was anything he needed. _I guess it will be too much to hope for he will do that now._ "Let's check the library," he eventually decided. "I think I... Well, I made a mess of the place, so he might be cleaning up. Or ordering others to clean up. I don't believe I have ever seen him clean..."

He growled inwardly when nobody made a move, making it clear they expected him to take the lead. _We'd better not run into anyone. A bloody razor and my fists as my only weapons in Tevinter... how embarrassing._

 

Damian Hawke led their small party through winding corridors with sparse lighting. He tried to avoid the more open spaces of the mansion as much as possible, which meant he had to come up with a different route than he would normally take and was unfamiliar with. Once they ended up in a storage room that was a dead end and were forced to turn back and find another way. Damian had to admit that even after spending several months in this mansion, he still knew very little of his surroundings. He had never ventured much beyond the most important rooms like the bedroom, bathroom, library and the dining room. During the search for documentation about the ritual he had relied on slaves to check most chambers and other than that there had been need nor time to explore. Now that he had to find one slave in this massive home he was starting to regret that. Fenris was finally awake and it might very well be just in time to get executed by the magisters. Damian gritted his teeth. _Void take you, Isabela._ He would not let Fenris die for that cursed pirate's mistakes.

It took them roughly twenty minutes to reach the library and they did not see anyone along the way, be it slave or intruder. Damian gestured to the others to be prepared, nervous now they were so close to the entrance hall where he had been confronted with Feynriel earlier that day.

The door to the library was open, so Damian leaned forward to peek inside. The curtains had been drawn back, but because of the dark clouds which had gathered outside the lighting in the room was still not very bright. It was enough to see that the curtains were the only thing to have been touched, however. Candle stumps, empty glass vials, and lyrium dust mixed with blood were scattered across the mosaic floor. Damian's gut clenched at the mess. It remained difficult to acknowledge what he had been doing here, even though the cuts in his arm and hand served as an unforgiving reminder.

"There's nobody here," he softly told the others, who were waiting behind him. Damian walked into the library in hopes of finding some sort of clue that would tell him whether someone had been here and got captured by Feynriel or that nobody had simply started cleaning yet. Everything appeared to indicate the latter. He could spot no hint of attempts to apply order to this mess. No traces of a broom sweeping the lyrium dust to the side or the glass vials being collected, nor signs of a struggle. "I don't think he's been here. Everything looks the same."

"How can you be certain?" Donnic looked skeptical. "You said he might very well betray your secret willingly. In that case we would not see signs of a fight."

Damian bent over the large table with sheets of parchments and books covering its surface. After a brief scan he picked up two documents. "Feynriel or his allies haven't been here," he said. "Unless Elias went to Feynriel himself, we might still find him."

"Because they would have read your diary?" Varric remarked jokingly, gesturing at the pages in Damian's hand.

"Very funny, Varric. No, these are Danarius' notes on the ritual he used to create Fenris' markings. Feynriel would never leave those lying around."

"So he's after that information as well?"

"Well... no." Damian looked around to see if there was anything else here that was worth taking. "Claudius - the magister who serves as Feynriel's mentor - already has his own copy, but I doubt they could resist the chance to keep it a secret like Danarius did."

"Does that mean there are more people like Fenris here? With the special tattoos?"

"Not really. I have only seen one, Merrill, and he looked like he can't put two and two together. I don't think he's even half the warrior Fenris is... or used to be. He was with Feynriel when he tried to arrest me, and he didn't do anything when I punched Feynriel. He just stood there and let me get away. I don't know why Feynriel even bothered to bring him along."

"Whereto now?" Donnic had not sheathed his weapon and was still wearing his shield on his left arm.

"The kitchen, I suppose." To the left, near a bookcase Damian discovered his old knife on the floor. Quickly he picked it up and stuck it behind his belt. Upon Donnic's accusing scowl he rolled his eyes. "I need _some_ sort of weapon. Unless you don't mind me hiding behind you."

"If I see you use blood magic..."

"Oh, get over it," Hawke snapped irritably. "You've been travelling with a blood mage for months, and yet you only seem to have a problem with me."

"At least Merrill has not used her powers to harm others."

"I have NOT used blood magic on Fenris!"

Varric's cough interrupted the start of a new argument. "I think we still need to find that Elias person..."

Damian nodded, shot one final glare at Donnic and walked out of the library. The rest followed.

* * *

He was less careful with the route he picked this time. Getting to the kitchen as fast as possible was more important now. Time was ticking. The longer it took them to find Elias, the greater the chance Feynriel got to him first. They were about halfway when Damian heard voices coming from the direction they were heading in. Immediately he opened the nearest door and gestured to the others they had to get inside. When the four of them had entered what appeared to be one of the many lounges the mansion had, Damian held the door ajar so they could still hear if someone approached. Soon it became clear the voices were moving away from them and it did not take long before all was silent again. Damian looked at Varric, Donnic and Merrill.

"That did not sound like Feynriel," he whispered, just in case others remained nearby. "He must have called for reinforcements. Be on your guard. It's possible they will be mages."

His companions nodded silently and checked their weapons once again. Hawke pulled the knife from his belt. He hoped he would not have to use it. Most of his experience with fighting in melee range consisted of trying not to get hit and get out of the way, most often accomplished by freezing his attackers in a wall of ice. That would probably work less well if he could only freeze their toes.

He was out of luck. When Damian rounded the last corner to the kitchen his guess turned out to be correct: Elias was there. But he was also not alone. Four heavily armored individuals - two men and two women - were closing in on him, forcing him to back away until he was trapped against the large stove that formed the heart of the kitchen. They had not drawn their weapons yet, which made it clear they did not perceive the old slave as a threat.

"No need to be afraid," the woman on the left said sweetly. "We have no intent to harm you, slave. Just tell us where your barbarian master is."

Elias looked at her, then at the other three, but did not say anything. For someone in his position he still managed to appear surprisingly calm, but even from this distance Damian could see confusion and a hint of fear in the slave's eyes.

The man next to the woman who had first spoken drew his sword and pointed it at Elias. "Don't make this difficult," he said threateningly with a low, raspy voice. "You don't want us to take you to Feynriel if you know something. His mood is sour enough as it is. Now, tell us where we can find that lice-ridden barbarian!"

"Lice?!" Damian exclaimed, effectively turning the attention of the four warriors away from Elias. "I just took a bath!"

The surprise that initially showed on their faces quickly changed to satisfaction when they realized they had found their target. "Get him!" the man who had just drawn his sword to threaten Elias shouted.

The other three unsheathed their blades and then the four of them simultaneously charged at Hawke, who stepped aside to let Donnic rush past. The former guard managed to stop two of the attackers and forced them to engage him in a fight. The remaining duo ignored the distraction and kept their focus on Hawke. When the first had almost reached him and swung his sword back to attack, Merrill's magic had the stone floor underneath the man's feet shift and rise up to envelop his ankles, then his legs, his abdomen, until he was trapped up to his armpits by unyielding stone. The Tevinter screamed in frustration. He lashed out with his sword in an attempt to hit Hawke, but all Damian had to do to stay out of reach was take one small step back. When it became clear he was unable to hit Hawke, the man began to hack away at the stone crust covering most of his body. His chest plate protected him from most of the pressure and allowed him to keep breathing with ease. Without his armor his chest would have been compressed till his lungs could not expand enough to draw in air. He made good use of this by letting out a never-ending string of Tevinter curses. Three bolts fired in quick succession by Varric's crossbow finally silenced him.

The woman who had advanced on Hawke together with the now dead warrior did not appear taken aback by her colleague's demise. "Your resistance is futile," she hissed. "You will never make it out of here alive. Surrender now and let us take you to Feynriel. It might be enough to get you a quick death."

"Screw you." Damian threw the sheets of parchment he had carried with him in her face. Of course this was not enough to hurt her, but combined with a well-aimed gust of all the force magic he could muster it brought her off balance and had her stumbling backwards. This still would only have bought them a fraction of time if not for Elias. Hawke's force magic had pushed the woman back in the elf's direction and without hesitation Elias reached for a nearby pan and smacked her on the head with it. The blow knocked her off her feet and she landed with her face on the burning hot furnace. Her scream was so loud it hurt their ears. Viciously she pushed herself back up and spun toward Elias, the right half of her face already colored bright red. Enraged by pain she lashed out with her sword. Her swing was sloppy and not very precise, but she managed to wound Elias' left arm nonetheless. She laughed a brief, barking laugh, the exhalation of air accompanied by a noise that sounded amused but could just as easily be a pained whine. She moved to strike again while Elias tried to get away from her when a lightning bolt launched by Merrill's staff struck the Tevinter woman from behind. The electricity coursed through her, eager to disappear into the ground, making her lose control of her muscles. Her sword dropped from her hand and after the last remnants of the lightning spell had left her cramped body she fell to her knees. Hawke quickly moved over to her. The warrior tried to collect herself, but her limbs failed to obey her will. Squatting down, Hawke grabbed her chin so he could turn the burned side of her face towards him.

"Tsk, that looks painful," he sighed with faked concern. "Let me cool that for you."

He raised his other hand and let what little mana he had left flow out and take shape. One perfectly sharp spike of ice shot from the palm of his hand. It was hardly impressive compared to the dozens of ice spikes the size of a grown man he could normally conjure at once, but this small one proved equally effective as it punctured an eye and embedded itself in the brain behind it. The woman immediately went limp and collapsed facedown when Hawke released her chin.

Meanwhile Donnic was still entangled in a battle with the other two fighters. His opponents took advantage of their numbers, one forcing him to constantly remain on the defensive by mercilessly beating down on his shield while the other tried to flank him. Donnic spent most of his time blocking and evading their assaults and did not get the chance to seriously threaten either of them. Damian saw that Varric tried to aim at one of the remaining enemies, but Donnic stood in the way of the first one and the woman who waited for an opportunity to strike from his flank was fast and kept moving to make it difficult for both Varric and Merrill to hit her without risking to hurt Donnic instead.

Eventually Varric gave up and rushed forward, crossbow held high above his head. "Say hello, Bianca!"

Before the woman could turn around to see who Bianca was Varric gave her a proper introduction by letting the massive weapon come down on her back. The blunt force was enough to put a dent in the chest piece of her armor and sent her flying past Donnic, who immediately seized that opportunity to bash his shield against her head. She promptly fell down, either dead or unconscious.

The last man standing increased the speed of his assault even more, but the sounds of his heavy breathing betrayed that his previously sound strategy was starting to tire him out and had him at a disadvantage now he no longer had an ally who could exploit any mistake Donnic made under his unrelenting attacks. It did not take long before Donnic could break through the series of attacks and finally take the offensive. A couple more parries, then his opponent made a mistake in his defense and the fatal cut could be made.

Everything went quiet while Donnic pulled his blade free from the corpse. Elias held a hand on the injury in his arm and stared with a pale face at the four bodies in his kitchen. Damian knelt next to the woman Donnic had hit with his shield to check whether she was still alive. A quick look confirmed what he had suspected: the shield had crushed her skull and killed her.

Varric frowned as he studied the armor of their attackers. "Wait," he muttered, pointing at the symbol of a flaming sword engraved in the chest plates made of hardened gold. "Are these supposed to be Templars? Why are they working for the dreamy mage?"

Damian looked up from the woman's body. "You didn't believe that the Templars here are guarding the magisters, did you? They probably work for them."

"Great," Varric grumbled. "So this time it's Templars _and_ mages. The challenges never get smaller with you."

"I thought you liked that."

Varric snickered wryly. "I did, but I'm afraid I'm getting too old for this shit." He checked his crossbow's cocking ring. "Oh no, I think Bianca's gotten scratched! I'm sorry, sweetheart, I know you don't like it when I use you to hit people."

"I'm sure she'll forgive you, Varric." Damian straightened and walk toward Elias. "What about you? Are you alright?"

Elias tried to hold back a grimace when he removed his hand and showed the cut in his arm. Damian examined it carefully. The wound did not appear to be life-threatening, but was deep enough to be painful. "I'm afraid I can't do anything to heal this now," he told the elf. "I'm sorry."

"I'm fine, Dominus." His pale face and eyes squinting in pain belied those words, but at the moment there was nothing Damian could do about it anyway.

"We'll need rations. Gather what food you can find, preferably things that won't spoil quickly," he instructed the small group.

"Where are we going, Hawke?" Merrill asked while she cheerfully scurried around the kitchen, not bothered in the least by the fact she had to step over corpses along the way.

"I'm not sure yet, but it will be far away from here."

With Elias' flawless knowledge of how much there was of each food and where it was stored they gathered enough to last them several weeks if they planned their consumption right.

"Good." Damian sighed as he glanced around. "One more thing and we can go." He picked up the documents describing the ritual, tossed them into a burning oven and turn around. "Let's go."

Merrill, Donnic and Varric quickly made their way to the exit of the kitchen, but Elias hesitated as if he was not certain what was expected of him. When Damian looked over his shoulder he made a motioning gesture. "You too, Elias."

Elias bowed his head, certainty returning to his posture now that he had received instructions. "Yes, Dominus."


	45. Chapter 45

They reached the cellar without further trouble and in complete silence. Damian stopped in front of the tapestry that covered the secret passage and gave Elias an odd look. "You're not even going to ask what's going on?" he asked in surprise.

"It is not my place to ask questions, dominus," Elias replied solemnly. "I just do as I'm told."

An extra wrinkle appeared in the elf's forehead upon Varric's entertained chuckle. "Maker's breath!" the dwarf exclaimed. "Broodiness must really be a highly valued trait in Tevinter! Do they force you to practice until you have mastered it?"

"I do not know what you're talking about, dwarf."

"Don't pester him, Varric," Damian warned while he pushed the tapestry aside and walked through the narrow passage.

Aveline greeted them when they entered. "How did it go?" she asked once they had all gathered inside.

"We found him and saved him from the Templars," Merrill told her proudly.

"How is Fenris?" Damian already pushed past Aveline to get to the far wall where Fenris was still sitting, with the sheet wrapped around him.

"He is well, considering the circumstances," Aveline replied. "He's had something to eat. I tried to talk to him but he doesn't recognize me and keeps asking if there is something I need him to do."

"Thank you, Aveline." Damian stared down at Fenris but could not come up with anything to say to him.

Elias came to stand next to him. The slave's eyebrows travelled an impressive distance when he saw Fenris sitting on his knees. "Maker's wisdom," he whispered. "I didn't expect him to wake up again."

Fenris raised his head at the sound of their voices. Seeing Elias failed to ignite a spark of familiarity, just as it had failed with Damian and the other companions, but the silver collar around Elias' neck got the white-haired elf's attention. A hand went to his own neck. "My collar," he mumbled. "I must have lost it. Master will be furious." He looked at Elias. "Do you know where it is? I must find it. Before Master sees..."

Elias took a step back, his face betraying bewilderment. "Lyrium poisoning has damaged his memory," Damian explained. "He doesn't remember any of us and believes he is a slave again."

Elias' expression changed to something Damian could not gauge. "Forgotten once again," the elf uttered softly, seemingly more to himself than Hawke. "Perhaps it's simply not meant to be..."

Damian did not get the chance to inquire about the meaning of the slave's words. Aveline tapped him on the shoulder. "Hawke, what do we do now?"

Damian turned toward her. "We get out of here," he said simply.

"Great!" Varric smiled. "Couple of questions: how, and where will we be going?"

"As far south as possible." Damian scratched his beard. "I was thinking about crossing the Silent Plains. That is pretty far from Minrathous, but we should be able to make quick progress if we use the old Imperial highway."

"The Silent Plains?" Donnic echoed in disbelief.

Aveline shook her head. "No. The Plains are far too dangerous. Moving through blighted territory once was more than enough for me."

"Which is exactly why that is where we should go. The magisters are the least likely to follow us there."

"Yes, because we will get ourselves killed and solve their problem for them," Aveline snapped. "The Blight took Bethany's and Wesley's life, and that of many others. We're not putting ourselves at risk like that again!"

Damian tensed. "Don't use Beth's death against me to get your way," he warned, his voice threateningly low.

"I'll say whatever I have to to make you realize the foolishness of your "plan"."

"Then let's hear what you can come up with!"

"We could take ship and-"

"Ship!" Damian threw his hands up in the air to make it clear what he thought of that idea. "The magisters aren't going to let us board a ship. What captain would take us? And what if the magisters manage to trace the ship we're travelling on and attack at sea? We won't be able to sneak away like we did in Kirkwall. We don't have the convenient distraction of a burning city this time."

Aveline stubbornly folded her arms. "Then we can still go in every direction that doesn't lead to the Plains. If you're worried about the magisters tracking us down travelling over the Imperial highway will make us easy to find as well."

"Maybe we should get out of this damned city first then," Varric suggested. "We can decide where we're headed if we no longer have angry mages and Templars prowling the halls."

"Fine." Damian turned to Elias. "Is there a backdoor we can use?"

"Which one, dominus? We have several."

Damian grumbled. "The one that is least likely to lead us into an army of Templars."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Elias replied: "I think the one we sometimes use to bring in supplies would be the best option."

"Good, then you'll show us where to go. We collect the last things we need on the way. Fenris needs clothes. We can't take him anywhere with that stupid sheet."

They all nodded their agreement and started to collect what few belongings they had and divide the rations they had brought from the kitchen.

"What about your magic, Hawke?" Merrill asked suddenly. "Shouldn't we try to fix that?"

"I'm... afraid I don't know how." The thought of never again having full control of his powers made Damian's throat feel dry. He could hardly imagine what a life without them would be like. Pathetic and defenseless were the first words that came to mind to describe it. "Feynriel would have to stop whatever he is doing to my mana, and I doubt asking nicely will do the trick. He... oh _fuck_ , I have no idea what this guy is capable of. What if he can track me through the Fade, wherever I go? If that's the case there is little point in running..."

"So we need to kill him?" Varric asked matter-of-factly.

Damian groaned. "I don't think we can risk that. Who knows how powerful he is now. I... No, we need to get away. At the moment our only advantage is that he doesn't know where we are. We have to use that and escape now. I won't risk Fenris falling into the hands of the magisters. He deserves better than that. Maybe I can try something later to fix this, but for now... I'll just have to deal with it."

Both Aveline and Merrill looked like they wanted to say more, but Damian shook his head at them and turned back to Fenris. His heart still could not decide whether it should soar with happiness now Fenris was awake again or become ten times heavier at the sight of his hunched narrow frame, softly rocking back and forth.

"Come on, Fenris. Time to go." Damian stretched out a hand to help him get up, but Fenris looked at it as if it was about to strangle him.

"No."

Damian froze. "What?"

"No."

 _Could it be...?_ But the way Fenris was clutching the white sheet and his upper body swayed faster and faster back and forth suggested he was still not sound of mind. "There's no time for this." Damian tried to sound as patient as possible. "We need to leave now, Fenris."

He reached out again, this time to touch Fenris' arm and make his intent to help him up more clear, but Fenris jumped as if Damian had struck him. "NO!" He scrambled away, his skinny legs barely able to carry his weight, while he kept screaming. "No! No! Get away from me! Monster! Monster!"

With three wobbly steps Fenris had reached the far wall. He pressed himself against it, the sheet still wrapped around him.

Damian was so taken aback by this sudden change in Fenris' behavior that he could only stand there and stare. He discovered he was shaking - not only his hands, but his entire body. He did not understand what had caused the elf's reaction. He had used his right - not his left, injured - hand to get Fenris to stand up. Why would he react this way, unless he somehow remembered the last time they had seen each other? But whatever he saw in Fenris' eyes, it was definitely not a rational memory. They still had that dull look that hinted at insanity, even though panic had lit them up now.

He tried to tell himself that, convince himself that Fenris' own confused thoughts had sparked this reaction, but he could still clearly hear the last thing Fenris had said to him: _"You're a monster."_

Aveline made an attempt to approach Fenris, but she triggered the same frantic response. Fenris almost lost his balance when he tried to create more distance between them, despite the support of the wall. "No, leave me alone! Monster!"

Aveline stopped and gave Hawke a helpless look. "What's wrong?"

Damian tried to speak, made a croaking sound, then found his voice. "I think... I think he's just confused and doesn't understand what's going on. We did argue about magisters and escaping in front of him. Maybe that has scared him. Who knows what gets through to him and how he interprets it?"

"Or he sees you for what you are."

"Not now, Donnic," Aveline scolded. "You saw him react the same way to me. The problem is what we're going to do now. We can't drag Fenris out of here kicking and screaming."

"And we can't afford to waste more time either," Damian sighed. "Eventually Feynriel's men will come down to the cellar."

Elias spoke up. "Dominus, if you please... perhaps I can try to calm him down." He pointed to the collar around his neck. "This might help."

"I... suppose it's worth a try." Damian swallowed past the lump in his throat. The only silver lining to Fenris' memory loss had been that he had forgotten every possible reason to be furious with Damian, selfish as that thought was. Having Fenris react with so much fear and anger so unexpectedly was a change too many to handle right now.

_Acceptance. He's alive. At least he is alive. The rest does not matter._

He hoisted a satchel over his shoulder. "We'll scout ahead and make sure the way to the ground floor is clear," he told Elias. "Follow us as soon as you can. If you haven't caught up to us by the time we need you to show the rest of the way I'll send someone back down to help you get Fenris upstairs."

_We're getting out of here, one way or the other. Even if I need to tie him up again and drag him away from this cursed place._

Elias bowed. "Yes, dominus."

Damian looked around the room one last time. "Everyone ready? Then let's go."

 

* * *

Despite the importance of staying alert while they briskly moved through the mansion's empty hallways, Damian was distracted.  _Master or monster? Is that how it's going to be from now on?_ Was this punishment for everything he had been prepared to do to save Fenris' life? Had he earned these titles? Master for locking Fenris up, monster for turning to blood magic? But he had had no choice! He could not have let Fenris die, like his entire family had died. If anything he should have resorted to such measures sooner, like his father had said. He should have used blood magic to save Bethany and Mother. He should have locked Carver up in Gamlen's stinking hovel while he ventured into the Deep Roads. He had been too cowardly then, trying too hard to live up to the image of what a mage should be. He had wanted to prove to his family, to Fenris and everybody else that he deserved his freedom, that he was worthy of it and would not succumb to base desires and temptations. He had clung to those foolish ideals for far too long. His family had died while he tried to be "good", whatever that meant. He used to think he knew, back when books and stories colored his views and gave them shape. Good and evil. Black and white. They had been easy to discern on those pages. Now Damian no longer had a clue what shade the world was supposed to be, and what he was, and - that was even worse - he no longer cared. Was that what had happened to Danarius as well? Had he simply... stopped caring after a lifetime in the Imperium, with a wife he did not love and years of trying to conceive a child without success? Damian did not want to think about that. He did not want to come any closer to understanding Danarius or any of the other magisters.

If he had not been so lost in his own unhappy thoughts he might have found the quietness suspicious. Nowhere was a sign to be seen of slaves or Templars. The ground floor appeared abandoned. Now Damian just assumed Feynriel was still searching the upper floors before coming down again.

He should have realized Fortune's smile had turned into a grimace as soon as Fenris had woken up from his coma. Luck had never had a habit of staying on his side for long.

Even with his weakened magic Damian could sense the sudden shift in magical energies around him. It was so strong it made his skin tingle. A powerful spell had just been cast.

He immediately stopped walking and looked around, but the source already announced itself. Feynriel appeared from behind the corner on the right, the slave Agnos by his side.

"I found you. Game's over, Hawke."

Damian drew his knife and quickly glanced behind him to see if the others were ready too. _Well, shit._

The spell Feynriel had cast turned out to be mass paralysis. All his friends had been trapped in it, unable to move a muscle. Without all his magic he could never hope to undo such a powerful spell. He was on his own.

"Where is Fenris?"

Damian turned back and saw Feynriel was looking at his paralyzed companions. It only took one glance to notice Fenris was not among them.

When Damian did not say anything the younger mage repeated his question. "Where is Fenris? He is no longer in the Fade, which suggests you managed to wake him. I doubt you'd be leaving without him, so where is he?"

Maybe Elias would spot the danger in time when he came upstairs with Fenris. Maybe he could take a different route and still get away. There was still a chance, as tiny as it might be. "No idea."

Feynriel let out a dramatic sigh. "Perhaps another lesson in humility will help. Agnos, attack. But don't kill him. He needs to stay alive for a little longer."

As soon as the command had been spoken the large man with the lyrium tattoos grunted and stepped forward, his hands tightened into fists.

"Wonderful." Damian slowly backed away to grant himself a little more time while the muscular slave approached. "He can do something after all."

He managed to shape a small bolt of fire and hurled it at Agnos' face. It might have stopped an ordinary man, but the markings lit up and easily absorbed the weak spell before it could do any damage. Damian lunged forward and lashed out with his knife. He aimed low, hoping he could pierce the layer of leather armor the slave was wearing and wound his leg gravely enough to cripple him.

Agnos evaded him without trouble - displaying a surprising level of dexterity for such a big man - and immediately countered with an attack of his own.

The blow to his temple was so hard Damian saw stars dancing before his eyes. The force had him spinning a half-turn before he fell on his stomach. The knife flew out of his hand and across the floor, out of his reach.

Before Damian could coordinate an attempt to get back up Agnos' boot landed on his left hand. He screamed as the thick sole crushed it and the unhealed cuts were pressed against the marble floor. From the corner of his eye he saw Agnos' other boot sailing forward. He tried to roll away to avoid it, but with his hand pinned down he could not move far enough. The boot connected forcefully with his side and would have sent him sliding a modest distance across the hall. Instead he felt a painful jerk in his shoulder joint as the other boot kept him in place.

Damian groaned and panted in pain. _Pathetic and defenseless describe a lack of magic just perfectly._ He tried to pull his hand free, but Agnos' weight was too much.

He nearly cried in relief when the foot was suddenly lifted, but was not granted enough time to recover. Agnos flipped him over, grabbed Damian by his collar and effortlessly lifted him off of the floor. A blue glow warned for what was to come next but he could do nothing to stop it. The next thing he knew was Agnos' hand plunging into his chest.

This time he did not scream. The pain was too great to make a sound. He could not breathe, could not see or think. His world shrunk to the excruciating sensation of fingers digging into and bruising his heart. Each heartbeat caused an explosion of pain to spread from his chest to every fiber in his body, and the distress had his poor heart beating faster and faster to fight the impaired blood flow.

It seemed to last forever while Damian prayed to a Maker he had long abandoned faith in for an end. Having somebody else's hand in your chest, their fingers around your heart was so alien, such an unforgivable violation that he wished Agnos had simply used a piece of steel to stab him. It would be merciful compared to this.

Just when he thought he would finally pass out the fingers released their hold and the hand retreated. If Agnos had not still held him by his robes he would have dropped to his knees.

"That's enough, Agnos." Feynriel's face appeared before Damian's blurred eyes. "I think he understands now. So, one more time: where is Fenris?"

Damian coughed. Blood flowed over his lips and spattered on Feynriel's face. It had not been on purpose but served as a nice act of defiance nonetheless, he thought through the delirium caused by the remnants of pain.

Feynriel's face twisted in disgust. With a foul scowl he wiped the blood from his pale face. "I'll find him myself then," he spat. "You'll both pay for-"

"My lord! My lord!"

Feynriel turned around to watch a Templar with a round, young face hurry toward them. "What is it?" he asked impatiently when the man had reached him.

"New orders from magister Claudius, my lord. Unrest's been getting worse and he wants the matter dealt with. He thinks the rebels will cause a riot if their Champion is imprisoned and that they will attempt to free him. He wants all leaders dead to squash all possible resistance."

"What? Right now? But that's..."

"He sent us to escort the rebels to this place. So far they haven't resisted - perhaps they did not believe us when we told them it would be their final warning, or they just want to see their beloved freedom fighter."

"This place?" Feynriel repeated. "You mean you brought them here?"

"They're right outside, my lord."

"Unbelievable." Feynriel shook his head, obviously frustrated with this turn of events. "So he expects me to execute Hawke right on the doorstep, before their eyes? How is that any less likely to lead to a riot?"

"With the Fereldan it should be possible to draw out the rebel leader. Magister Claudius said that with him dead too, their resistance should be destroyed."

Feynriel looked like the described logic had not convinced him, but he could not continue to question his mentor's orders in public. "Very well. We'll put an end to all of this now. Gather everyone who is still searching the mansion. I want all men outside. Agnos, make sure Serah Hawke comes with us. Use force if he tries to get away."

Again the slave reacted immediately to his master's command. He released Damian's robes so his feet hit the ground. When Damian nearly lost his balance Agnos grabbed his upper left arm to keep him upright.

They waited for the round-faced templar to return with his colleagues. Then they marched to the front doors together, Templars first, followed by Agnos dragging Damian along and Feynriel walking behind them.

Everything was going so fast, too fast for Damian's dazed mind to process. The memory of the pain was still too fresh to allow room for anything else. _I hope Elias can help Fenris get away_ , was the only thought he mustered before the doors swung open and Agnos shoved him outside.

It was still raining. The Templars and foreign mages who had gathered in front of the mansion were soaked. Hair, robes, helmets and armor glistened in the dull grey light of the dreary afternoon. Far away, above the sea, thunder rumbled. A ripple of unrest went through the crowd when they saw Hawke. Damian realized most had never seen him before, despite the fact he had apparently become some kind of icon for them. He doubted he lived up to their expectations, pale as he was, dark circles under his eyes and with an unkempt beard.

When he looked to his right he saw Isabela standing there, a Templar on each side and her arms bound behind her back. By the way she looked at him before her eyes widened he knew she had not recognized him at first. "Fancy meeting you here," he rasped before coughing up some more blood.

"I'm sorry, Hawke."

Damian averted his face.

Feynriel remained inside to avoid getting wet. "Here is your Champion, the one whose name you chant when you demand our help and hospitality," he shouted. Everyone went silent at the sound of his voice. The authority he wielded was beyond question. The frightened teenager he had once been was gone for good. "Look at him and see that he has surrendered to the might of the Imperium! Even your hero is nothing before the magisters." He paused to draw a deep breath. "There is no place for you here," he continued. "You cannot hope to achieve even a fraction of what the magisters can do, so why would we allow you amongst us as our equals? This is your last chance. Hawke, your Champion, dies here. Leave and you will be spared a similar fate, on one condition: your leader reveals himself and surrenders to us as well. The rest of you will then be free to leave and live your life elsewhere. If he refuses to do this you will all pay the price. And I warn you not to try to deceive me. I already know your leader's identity. So..." he looked from left to right and back. "What will it be?"

Silence. Rain dripping down on their heads. More thunder off in the distance. Then movement in the crowd. People moving to the side to let someone through.

Anders stepped forward, his back straight and head raised proudly, staff in his right hand. Damian heard Isabela mutter "Aw, shit."

"Your injustice will not go unpunished," the blonde mage said while two Templars grabbed his arms.

 Feynriel smiled. "Very brave. Soon your misguided spirit will be sent back to the Fade. Now, I think the pirate should be fi-"

"HYAAAAARRHHHH!!!" A primal scream coming from behind them tore through the air, surprising them all and cutting off Feynriel's words.

Damian craned his neck to see the source. It had sounded awfully familiar...

It took him several seconds to realize he was not hallucinating. _Fenris._

Fenris clinging to Feynriel, his arms and legs wrapped around the mage to hold onto him. And in Feynriel's neck a knife. _His_ knife, the knife he had dropped when Agnos struck him, buried till the red hilt in Feynriel's neck. The young mage's eyes were wide, his expression bemused, as if he - like everyone else - could not believe what had just happened. For one long moment everything stayed like that: Fenris on Feynriel's back, one hand still on the knife's hilt, the other clutching Feynriel's robes, and everybody just _staring_. Then time seemed to speed up again. Feynriel's hands went up, already alight with the pale blue glow of healing magic, when Fenris withdrew the knife from the mage's neck and blood came gushing out. Feynriel pressed his hands against the wound to stem the bleeding, but the blood flowed over his fingers without pause. The spell in his hands flickered and disappeared, his ability to control his magic weakening with his life. His mouth opened and he made a gurgling sound, blood spilling over his lips, then he collapsed with Fenris on top of him.

As soon as Feynriel died Damian felt something open up inside of him and all his mana rushing back. His connection to the Fade had been restored. Having all his power back so suddenly made him light-headed, but for once it was the good kind, like the mild intoxication that could be experienced after a few beers. He became newly aware of the cuts in his arm and hand, bleeding more severely after Agnos' unkind treatment.

Damian Hawke did not hesitate. He would not get another chance. He needed magic that would not be resisted by Agnos' markings. Without effort he found the power in his blood. He focused on it and forced it out, putting all his pain and anger in it. The next drops of blood did not drip from his fingers. Instead they rolled upwards, ignoring gravity, and moved to Agnos' hand on his arm. He rapidly forced more of his blood up this way and made it burn like acid. It only took a couple of seconds before Agnos flinched and withdrew his hand, more in surprise than pain. Damian had been waiting for that. His arm shot up and he pressed his hand against the tattooed man's face. His blood hissed at the contact with Agnos' skin. The slave whined, now genuinely in pain as Damian's blood burned in his eyes, and staggered. Damian made use of that little bit of distance between them to charge a fireball between his fingers and hurled it at the lyrium warrior.

"Resist this, you son of a bitch."

Agnos' markings did not resist the force of this spell. He was turned into a pillar of fire as soon as Damian's magic hit him.

Anders seemed to interpret that as a sign to unleash some magic of his own. Blue light shone through cracks in his skin and filled his eyes, and within the blink of an eye he sent the two Templars who had been holding him flying. "FOR FREEDOM!!!" he bellowed, raising his staff above his head.

Every possible spell was unleashed simultaneously as the apostates began their attack. Fire, lightning and ice filled the air and lit up their surroundings. Templars began a charge of their own and chaos ensued.

Damian dodged a Templar's sword, froze the man in his spot and hurried to Fenris, who seemed ready to panic at the sight of his bloodied hands.

"Come," Damian said while helping the white-haired elf up. "They won't be needing us for this."

Quickly he slammed the doors shut behind them.

 


	46. Chapter 46

The sounds of battle bounced off the closed doors. Muffled cries, clattering of steel on steel and the screams and hisses of spells could still be heard through the thick Ironbark. Hawke only managed to drag Fenris along for a few paces before his legs gave out and he landed uncomfortably hard on his knees. Already the adrenaline which had rushed through him upon seeing Fenris burying a knife in Feynriel's throat and regaining his magic was evaporating, allowing pain to return and claim his senses.

Pain was everywhere. His head and side were one massive bruise and his insides felt as if they had been rearranged in a manner nature did not agree with. But his arm felt the worst of all. From his left elbow down his nerves burned, culminating into the lump of agony his crushed hand had been reduced to. If he had to hazard a guess at how many bones had been broken by Agnos' heavy boot he would have to go with "all of them". How he had managed to press that same hand against the lyrium warrior's face without fainting on the spot was a mystery. Damian drew in a rattling breath, then proceeded to spit out even more blood with several choked coughs. He vaguely wondered whether this meant that Agnos had ended up damaging his lungs while groping his heart.

He released Fenris' bony arm and placed his healthy hand over his aching chest. "Oh fuck me upside down," he groaned. "That hurt even more than the time you did it."

When Fenris gave no reply Damian's eyes tried to catch the elf's gaze. He, too, sat on the floor on his knees, next to Hawke, either because he had been dragged down in the fall or his own legs had failed to carry his weight. He had lost his sheet along the way, so again Fenris was only covered by his smallclothes. He was still clutching Hawke's bloodied knife in one hand. If he had heard Damian his face did not betray it. Damian's silent attempt to get Fenris to look at him was equally ignored. At the moment the knife seemed much more enticing.

A feeling of unease crept up on Damian. Fenris had proven to be completely unpredictable in this state. Had he killed Feynriel with the intent to save Hawke, or had "stab every mage in sight" somehow become Fenris' new objective? As much as Damian wanted to believe the former, that Fenris had come to his rescue out of love or even the faintest sense of affection or duty, he could not rule out the latter. So it was with hesitation that he whispered Fenris' name.

"Fenris?"

It took a while before Fenris tore his eyes away from the knife and his blood-stained fingers and finally raised his eyes to look at Hawke. To Damian's relief there was no hostility in them, not even rage. He let his hand drop from his chest and carefully stretched it out to Fenris. "Can you give me the knife? Please?"

The elf's eyes widened, then shot back down to the knife and to his left, where Feynriel lay near the front doors. He licked his lips, his eyes again flicking from Damian's face to the knife and to Feynriel's body and back. "I killed him," he muttered. "I killed a magister."

Damian glanced at Feynriel. To his own surprise he felt a twinge of sadness at the sight of the young man's light blond head lying in a pool of his own blood. His face was turned in their direction, his dead eyes staring straight ahead, the shock of his sudden death still reflected in them. He looked younger now, more like the kid Hawke had saved from a group of slavers at least seven years ago. Twice he had saved the dreamer, only to end up involved in his death now. And it had all been over a stupid misunderstanding too.

Though he still did not fully understand Feynriel's reasons for turning against him, it all seemed to stem from the belief Hawke was the mastermind behind a plot to undermine the Imperium. A plot he had had no part in, had not even known existed, but which happened to be led by two of his former companions. Two of his former friends. Because of them, Feynriel had died thinking Hawke had betrayed his trust. Pointless. Although Damian had never really counted Feynriel as a friend, he had been the only person in Minrathous he could rely on for quite some time. Together they had spent numerous hours poring over dusty tomes and Danarius' notes and when all that failed, Feynriel had been the one to teach him blood magic and had provided the spell necessary to track Danarius in the Fade. All to help Fenris. Who had killed Feynriel. After Feynriel had decided to kill Hawke. _What a mess._

Turning his attention back to Fenris, Damian said: "Feynriel wasn't a magister. It's alright. You're not in trouble. You saved my life." He made a half-hearted attempt to wipe the blood from his mouth and beard before holding out his hand again. "Just give the knife to me. You don't need it anymore."

In the silence that followed his words seemed to sink in. Shyly Fenris' eyes settled on Damian's hand. Another moment of insecurity and hesitation, then Fenris lifted the knife and placed it in Damian's waiting palm. _Fenris giving up his weapon._ As Damian closed his fingers around the sticky hilt he tried again to lock eyes with Fenris. Surprisingly he succeeded this time. He looked into those green gems surrounded by red, searching for something, _anything_ , that gave meaning to what had happened when Feynriel had ordered his execution and was cut off by Fenris - literally - but he found nothing, and then Fenris cast his eyes down again.

Damian swallowed, his eyes watering from two different kinds of heartache. "You're truly gone, aren't you?"

Whether Fenris intended to respond to that he would never know, as his friends and Donnic, Elias, Bodahn and Sandal chose this moment to come storming toward them. They crowded around Damian and Fenris, their expressions showing worry, confusion or both. Aveline was the first to speak up. "Hawke! What happened? What's going on?" Her eyes drifted over Feynriel's body. "And who is that?"

Steeling himself with a deep breath, Damian stood up. The slightest brush of his injured hand against his robes felt as if someone was stomping on it all over again. Fortunately he was able to remain standing this time, albeit with his shoulders slightly hunched. "I think we have our distraction after all."

Merrill tiptoed over to Feynriel. "Mythal! Is that... Feynriel?"

"It is."

"You killed him?" If he had not gotten himself beaten up by Agnos within mere seconds Damian might have considered being offended by the audible surprise in Aveline's voice. Now he settled for just shaking his head in denial. "Fenris did."

While everyone proceeded to stare at Fenris, Damian's eyes pinned Elias down. The slave shrunk considerably under the withering glare. "Dominus," he started, "Forgive me. He-"

"How did he manage to get away from you?" Damian demanded. "He can hardly walk!"

Elias' bow became even lower. The hand he held against the cut in his arm was red with blood. "My humblest apologies. He appeared to have calmed down and willingly went upstairs. When we found your companions I wanted to see if I could help, but I lost Fenris out of my sight. The next thing I knew he had disappeared." He let his bald head hang. "I failed you. Forgive me."

Aware of the strict eyes of the others on him, Damian sighed. Even if he wanted to, even if he had had the energy for it, he could not get away with a tirade against Elias in front of his companions. "Fenris did save my life just now, so it would hardly be... decent of me if I blamed you for giving him the opportunity to do so." He tucked the knife he was still holding behind his belt. "So... apologies accepted. You're forgiven. I would warn you to not let it happen again, but I don't think that will be necessary. It's time to get out of Minrathous."

"Hold up." Aveline looked around. "I'd like to know what's going on here first. I hear fighting outside."

"Yes. That's our distraction."

"And who was so kind to provide us with this "distraction"?"

Damian took a careful step to test how his legs functioned. "Apostates. Refugees from the fractured Circles. Anders is leading them."

"Blondie is out there?"

Walking seemed doable now. He took several more steps, each slightly faster than the previous. "Yes. Isabela too."

Why were they wasting time standing around here, nagging him for details on what happened? Maybe they should not have gotten trapped by that stupid spell if they did not want to miss anything.

That was not fair and he knew it, but the only aspect of the past - had it been minutes? An hour? - he cared about was that it was over. He had survived and now it was time to get out of here. What did it matter who was fighting whom outside? Qunari, demons, undead and dragons could join the fray for all he cared. It was probably only a matter of time before they did.

He could walk. He was walking. He would walk out of this mansion, out of Minrathous, out of Tevinter.

Then Aveline's hand found its way around his - right, uninjured - arm and forced him to a halt. "And now a more complete version, please."

Thoroughly irritated, Damian turned around. "You do realize that at some point in the very near future someone outside those doors will get the idea of breaking them open - either by magic or by force - and pull us back into their fight?"

"Which is why I would like to know who that someone could be and what their fight is about."

"What it's about?" Damian snorted. "What every fight is about, of course! Killing everyone who isn't on your side."

"Right." Aveline made no effort to hide her own annoyance. "And what's this about Anders and Isabela?"

He could feel every separate beat of his bruised heart. The constant, foreign ache was nauseating. When Damian looked around in search of signs of mutual irritation at Aveline's urge to delay their departure he only met expectant gazes, waiting for the explanation she demanded. "Fine," he grumbled. "Here's the quick version: after his mentally challenged bodyguard beat me up, Feynriel received orders from magister Claudius that I was to be made an example of. The Templars had been instructed to escort all refugees to the mansion to witness my execution as a final warning. When Feynriel brought me outside Isabela was there too, probably for the same purpose as I. Feynriel ordered the leader of the mages to reveal himself so he could be brought to justice as well. In return the rest of them would be allowed to leave. Anders showed himself, and..."

"They brought you before a crowd of angry mages who revere you as the ultimate symbol of fighting for freedom and believed lopping your head off right there would go over well?" Varric snickered in disbelief. "That's just stupid. No wonder it failed."

"Your concern for and description of my execution as "lopping my head off" is touching, Varric. And I wouldn't call it that stupid because it was all going exactly as Claudius wanted until Fenris showed up. He jumped Feynriel from behind and stabbed him. Only then did the fighting start. So..." He narrowed his brow at Aveline. "If everyone is up to speed now, how about we get moving?"

"But if Isabela and Anders are outside, shouldn't we help them?" Merrill looked like she expected they would disagree with her but could not fathom why. Damian marveled at how someone who must have tainted so much of her soul with the use of blood magic could still view the world with such innocent, empathetic eyes. Maybe Macarius' speculation had been correct, that some had a bigger soul, a bigger heart, than others. Did that mean his heart had been small to being with? It certainly felt like it had been frozen well before casting the first blood spell, only thawing slightly for matters concerning Fenris. He definitely would not mellow for Isabela or Anders.

"Nobody opens those doors," he ordered with iron in his voice. "Do you understand? We will draw far too much attention if we do. I'm not giving them another chance to kill me or capture Fenris. Enough is enough. Anders chose this fight. How he makes it through is his own problem. As for Isabela, at least she has a fighting chance now, and knowing her that will be all she needs." He chose to omit the detail of her bound hands and the Templars holding her arms.

The objections he anticipated remained unspoken. Instead Aveline nodded solemnly. Her face betrayed how much it pained her to abandon the pirate to her fate. "What do you want to do?"

"Getting as far away as possible" was the answer that burned on his lips, but Damian forced himself to think for a moment. His eyes drifted over Fenris' naked frame. "Fenris needs clothes," he said, content with the rationality of this first task. Nobody would fight this decision. He was sick of arguing over everything they needed to do, sick of how every conflict and argument questioned his sanity and humanity. He knew he had dragged himself back from true insanity - for now - but if there was a way back to a state of thoughtful, compassionate reasoning he was unable to find it. His world had shrunk to keeping Fenris save and now he was incapable of stretching it back. Perhaps Fenris' fractured mind had allowed him to perceive the truth. Perhaps he had been reduced to a monster. Not because of his deeds in the recent past, but because of what he was and the things he could no longer be in the present. How much of himself had he lost in the darkness of the library?

With a lot of effort he dragged his thoughts back to more pressing concerns. "I also need a staff," he muttered. "I should be able to wield one again. And I need coin..." He turned to Elias. "Where's my purse?"

"In your bedchambers, dominus. Your staff should be there as well."

"And clothing for Fenris?"

Elias eyed Fenris for a moment, as if he tried to gauge his size. "He won't have much use for his old armor. It won't fit." He paused, waiting for Damian to contest this, which he did not. "I should be able to find something for him to wear among the clothes we keep for slaves." Again he seemed to await protests from Hawke, but Damian just eyed Elias' scarce clothing, basically a short robe that left his arms bare up to his shoulders and barely reached till his knees.

"Just make sure he is properly covered up," he told the old slave. "I don't want him getting cold. And find some footwear too. There's no time for this "elves don't wear shoes" nonsense. We have a long distance to travel."

"Yes, dominus."

Damian looked at the quiet faces around him. "You're all going with Elias and Fenris. I'll catch up with you when I've collected my stuff."

"Are you sure you don't want anyone coming with you, Hawke?" Varric asked. "Just to be safe."

"There shouldn't be anyone left in the house, so I think I'll manage," Damian replied dryly. "It's more important that you stay together. If the doors are forced open, you'll have to fight your way out. Under no circumstances should Fenris fall into the magisters' hands. Understood?" Everyone nodded. "Go."

Damian set off for the stairs, holding his left arm as still as possible to minimize the pain. Every step vibrated through his entire body and made his injuries scream their punishment. By the time he had made it up the stairs his heart was hammering in his ribcage and he was forced to pause for a coughing fit. He would have liked to at least heal the damage that had been done to his insides, but already knew he would be unable to muster the required concentration. So he had no choice but to stumble onward to his old bedroom.

In addition to the one he had brought with him from Kirkwall he found several other staves neatly positioned against a wall. Damian picked them up one by one, weighted them in his hand and tested how his mana flowed through them. Eventually he selected one of the Tevinter staffs, which was surprising modest in its design, and spent the next couple of minutes clumsily trying to strap it on his back with one hand.

Once that had finally been taken care of he searched the room for his purse, which turned out to be hidden more carefully than the staves. He found it when he rechecked a wardrobe drawer and dug under the first layer of socks. He had no idea whether Elias had put it there or that he had stuffed the purse there himself and Elias was somehow aware of that, as he seemed to be aware of everything in the place he practically owned in all but name. _Aware of everything except Fenris scurrying away on those sticks that are supposed to be legs,_ Damian thought bitterly to himself. It might have saved his life, but being rescued by your demented lover was not as romantic as it sounded in theory.

He had taken two steps toward the door when he heard a high-pitched screeching noise that came from his right and quickly got louder. For a brief moment the room was brightly lit, as if the sun had suddenly had enough of the rain and the night and had decided to break through the clouds. Damian threw himself on the floor, between the bed and the wardrobe, at the same time a lost fireball crashed through one of the windows and hit the wardrobe above his head. A rain of glass and wooden splinters descended on him while he cursed loudly at another series of fresh agony that was sent through his left hand and arm.

Once the debris had settled he pushed himself back up. The remnants of the wardrobe were on fire but the flames did not appear to be in a hurry to spread yet. Not even bothering with a glance back at the damage Damian hurried out of the bedroom. 

* * *

Judged by the sounds the battle outside was still going. Damian was relieved that they so far seemed to ignore the doors and nobody had decided to break them open yet. He followed the hallway deeper into the mansion, hoping he would soon run into the others.

While he walked he noticed more and more slaves standing near the walls. They appeared in previously empty doorways, stepped out of dim corridors and descended from staircases, watching him in silence. Damian frowned darkly. Where had they been before, when he was beaten up and dragged to his execution, helpless in his weakened state and with the absence of his magic? Why had none of them dared to show their face then and come to his aid?

They followed him through the mansion at a respectable distance. Their bare feet made no sound on the marble floor but he was aware of their presence behind him, just out of his field of vision. He realized he had no right to feel indignation or even hurt at their refusal to help him. These people owed him nothing. The only argument that could compel them to risk their life for him stemmed from the Tevinter mindset that he owned them. There was no other reason he could expect them to risk their life for him. They were house slaves, good at cooking and cleaning, not fighting. Feynriel and Agnos could likely have killed them without breaking a sweat.

So he continued his way without breaking the heavy silence that hung among them, the slaves trailing after him, obviously uncertain how events would proceed from here. He found Elias, Fenris and the others waiting for him near the kitchens. Fenris was decently clothed now, though still not as covered up as Damian would have liked. The markings on his neck and lower arms remained clearly visible. If they would start glowing they would immediately give their position away. Then again, the markings' light had always shone through everything that was not Fenris' special spirit hide armor so it might not have made a difference anyway. He was also not very happy with the open sandals which adorned Fenris' feet, but as with everything else it would have to do for the time being. There would be time to buy more suitable clothing later. If they made it out of Minrathous.

"Where's the exit?" he asked Elias.

The elf pointed. "To the left there, then right. Here is the key."

Damian took the key and nodded to Elias. "Thank you."

It was time to leave, and yet nobody moved. Damian's eyes drifted over the slaves who had gathered several paces away on his right and his group of companions on his left. It was clear they all waited for him to do or say something. He looked at Fenris, who quickly lowered his eyes and hunched his shoulders to make himself smaller, before his gaze returned to Elias. Maybe the dim light was to blame, but his face looked ashen. The cut in the slave's arm had still not stopped bleeding. Damian cleared his throat. "I... I promised Fenris I would free you when this was all over. So..." He made an awkward gesture, halfheartedly raising his right arm and dropping it back to his side. "You're free." His eyes again went to the group of slaves. He could name none of them. "You all are. Take what you need - what you want - from the mansion and... go. Leave the Imperium. Start a life somewhere else."

Elias' lips were thin. His face seemed to lose what had remained of its color. "They will kill us before we set foot outside the gates."

"They're quite busy killing foreign mages at the moment. That should allow you to remain unnoticed."

"And if I do, if we all do, what then?" the old man demanded. "I have been a slave all my life. It's all I have ever known. I am old. If it was ever possible for me to lead a different life, those days have long since passed. There is nowhere for me to go. I live to serve. Without that I have no purpose."

Damian scratched his beard, key in hand. He tried to hide his annoyance at Elias' protests. There was nothing he could do for the slaves besides granting them their freedom. "Then find a new purpose," he said brusquely. "There's a battle being waged outside for freedom. You could make it about your freedom as well, the freedom of all slaves."

A sour smile curved the elf's mouth. "And get killed in the process? You might as well kill us all right here. Nothing but death awaits us when you leave. Or when you stay, for that matter. I have never seen a day of battle in my life." He glanced at his arm. "I suppose today is the first and last. The magisters will crush this uprising, as they have done with so many others before. We will pay the price for what you have done here." His dark eyes locked with Damian's without shame or reservation. "This is not a kindness you're doing us."

"If you believe it's death either way for you, then I don't know what you want from me," Damian bit back. "I advise you to collect some valuables and flee. Live the rest of your life in quiet peace. Or sell yourself back into slavery if that is what you wish. You're free to choose after all."

"There is no freedom for us," Elias spat. "Slaves will always be slaves at heart, no matter how hard they pretend to be free." He nodded towards Fenris. "He is the proof of that. His amnesia has erased the pretense and reduced him to what he ultimately is."

Damian took a step forward so he was towering above Elias. "Fenris is not a slave. He will never again be treated as one."

Another smile, this time born out of genuine amusement. "Does that matter when he perceives himself as such?"

Damian drew a shaky breath. His head pounded, a splitting headache drilling its way into his brain from his bruised temple. He felt as if he had just been struck there again.

"Maybe we should-"

"No!" Damian interrupted Varric's proposition, already knowing what he was about to say. "We can't take them with us. We have to disappear, and we can't do that with a group of slaves tagging along. They are not helpless children, no matter what they want us to believe. These are grown people and they will have to take care of themselves. Fenris has done the same years ago." He knew it was not the same, Elias' accusing eyes made it very clear that it was not, but it was the best he could do. He had to leave. The blood on Elias' arm begged to be used, as did his own. He could silence him, could silence them all. Shut all their questions and judgments and nagging up.

It took all he had left to resist the temptation. Briskly he turned on his heels. "We're done here."

He did not look behind him to see if the others were following him. He knew they would. They might judge him and look down on him from their moral high ground because he had made the decision, but in the end they knew he was right and could only leave Minrathous and everyone who belonged there behind.

The same moment he turned the key in the lock of the small backdoor and their group slipped outside, the massive doors on the other side of the mansion were blown out of their hinges by the force of the spells unleashed on them.


	47. Chapter 47

The Archon strode into the mansion that had once belonged to Danarius, with magister Claudius, his apprentice and a modest battalion of Templars on his heels. Small groups of three Templars each rushed past him into the mansion to track down the Fereldan and his accomplices. Despite his more than respectable age the Archon's gaze was sharp as it swept from one side of the hallway to the other. Only when he had assured himself all was safe did he allow himself to look down at the corpse before his feet.

"So it is true," he sighed, turning his head to Claudius. "Feynriel is dead."

There was no grief on Claudius' face upon being confronted with the sad proof of the news they had received barely twenty minutes ago, but his brow did lower in a scowl. Whether this was the result of some decent form of sadness or mere annoyance the Archon did not deign himself to guess. Claudius' feelings - or lack thereof - had become utterly irrelevant. "Your failures have been piling up, Claudius," he stated in a low voice.

Claudius' scowl deepened. "How was I supposed to know the boy would get himself killed? He should have-"

"You knew the Fereldan and the slave were dangerous! Hadriana, Danarius _and_ Gaius have paid the ultimate price for underestimating them. You should have known by now to _not_ make the same mistake." The Archon shook his bald head. "Repeatedly you have assured me you would deal with both the apostates and the Fereldan, but thanks to your blundering Minrathous has fallen prey to chaos."

Claudius stiffened as the tension in his body increased. "Archon," he began more smoothly, trying to appease. "My own failures grieve me more than anyone. With your permission I will set things right again and restore the peace in our beloved city."

The Archon broke eye contact with Claudius and stared at Feynriel's body again. "You will do no such thing," he told the magister calmly.

A sharp intake of breath betrayed Claudius' shock. "But... surely we need to-"

"Deal with the sedition that is spreading in the streets?" the Archon finished Claudius' sentence. "Yes, we should. But I'm afraid "we" no longer includes _you_."

"I... am not sure I understand, your Highness." An angry outburst was visibly boiling under Claudius' mask of control, but the magister reined himself in to gauge an explanation from the Archon.

The Archon pointed at Feynriel. "This boy is dead because of you. I consider your continuous blundering to border on sabotage - and therefore treason - and will have no more of it."

"Treason?!" The Archon lifted his head right in time to see Claudius' narrow, dark eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. "Because of Feynriel? I have always acted with the benefit of the Imperium in mind! He was supposed to gather the last information we need to replicate Danarius' results. What the Imperium could have accomplished with this knowledge! It was Feynriel's carelessness that got him killed. He should have been more than capable of handling the barbarian."

"Feynriel was worth far more to us than over a hundred of those lyrium warriors!" the Archon thundered. "He was a somniari! His powers were invaluable! He was placed under your care as your apprentice. You were supposed to teach him what he needed to know and keep him safe. Instead you not only sent him to fend for himself against the men who have managed to bring down two magisters, you also ordered to have the apostates escorted to these very doorsteps to witness the Fereldan's unsanctioned execution. You either purposely put him in harm's way or your foolishness knows no bounds. Either way you will be punished."

"He had Agnos and over twenty Templars at his disposal, and that is excluding the ones who brought the apostates here! I would hardly call that sending him to "fend for himself"," Claudius sneered. "Feynriel should have been more than a match for the barbarian. To the best of our knowledge the slave's spirit had not left the Fade for months so any intervention from him was extremely unlikely. Bringing the apostates here to witness the barbarian's execution worked exactly as intended: their leader revealed himself and was captured without trouble. Everything was going as I had planned. Feynriel failed to check the mansion properly and did not pay attention when needed. _That_ got him killed. You cannot pin his death on me!" He hurried through the series of facts that were supposed to downplay his guilt and save him from deserved punishment. All he achieved was annoying the Archon further.

"Enough," he snapped impatiently. "More of your manipulative words will not change the facts and the decision I have made." The leader of the Magisterium of the Tevinter Imperium straightened his back to show off his impressive height. He had to employ all the authority he could muster for the judgment he was about the announce. "Magister Claudius, I hereby strip you of your title. Your family will lose its status of nobility and will not be allowed to fill a seat in the Magisterium for the next four generations."

"You can't do that!" Self-control was something every magister had to master at a young age in order to be successful - and often even survive - in the Imperium, but Claudius had just lost all of his upon hearing the Archon's decision. A punishment like this had not been uttered in decades. That not only the magister in question was facing conviction but his entire family as well was almost unheard of and only done when there was direct and irrefutable evidence for treason: undermining of the Imperium, or assassination of the Archon were the most notable examples. This decision would shock the other prominent families at best and sow more unrest and contempt at worst. Yet Claudius had left him no other choice. The damage this man's arrogance combined with his stupidity had done was too great to forgive. A permanent solution was required. So the Archon took a risk and disgraced one of the Imperium's ancient noble families, the family which had brought Minrathous its first somniari in generations.

"I just did," the Archon replied coolly.

"You need me! What happened to Feynriel's powers being invaluable to us? I am the only other dreamer the Imperium has!"

Claudius' shouts were stoically ignored. The Archon finalized his judgment. "You will be allowed to choose between Tranquility and death, as is custom in cases like this." He turned his head slightly to the right, barely enough to glance over his shoulder at the Templars watching in silence. "Take him," he commanded.

Two Templars immediately stepped forward and grabbed Claudius by the arms. A third confiscated his staff. Claudius struggled in their grip while they moved to drag him away. "No!" he bellowed. "You need me! I can track them! I can find the barbarian and the slave! I'll make them pay!"

 "They are no longer a priority," the Archon said, turning to his apprentice, a brown-haired woman with thin lips, a narrow face and large, deep-set eyes. "Send word to the guards at the city walls. Have them close the gates. Minrathous has never been breached. The rebels will discover this means we can not only keep people out, but in as well. And let all the magisters know I expect personal effort from each of them to get this rebellion under control."

The apprentice bowed. If she was shocked by what had transpired between Claudius and her mentor she tried her best not to show it. "I will go at once, Archon."

True to her word, she turned on her heels and hurried out of the mansion with brisk steps.

The Archon suppressed a sigh. He could feel the weariness seeping into his old bones. It was very much possible he had signed his own faith along with Claudius'. There was no going back. He had a rebellion to crush, and only time would tell whether his death would be claimed by old age or assassination.

He was about to return to the streets where the fighting had spread to when two groups of Templars returned from their exploration. They were accompanied by an old elven slave.

"Archon!" the leader of the first group called out. "We found no trace of the barbarian and his accomplices. Most slaves seem to have escaped as well, but we found this one." With an armored fist he shoved the elf forward.

"We discovered the bodies of four Templars in the kitchen," a representative of the other group reported. "They were obviously killed in a fight."

The Archon studied the slave for a moment. He believed he recognized the bald elf's face. "You have served under Danarius, have you not?" he asked. "As head house slave of his household, I seem to recall."

"That is correct, your Highness."

"Where is your master?"

The slave looked at the floor, knowing better than to look the Archon in the eye. "I don't know, your Highness. He has fled the mansion."

"Fled how?"

"Through a backdoor facing west."

"How many were with him?"

"Fenris and six others who arrived today: three dwarves, two humans and an elf with tattoos on her face."

That matched the report he had received on activity near the mansion. A group of six had been seen entering the mansion but not leave it. "And where are your fellow slaves?"

The elf clutched his left arm. The blood on his fingers hinted at a wound he was trying to cover. "The Fereldan told them they were free. Most of them left. To join the fighting, I think."

"How did you come by this?" the Archon gestured at the slave's red fingers, then looked at the Templars. "Did he resist capture?"

The slave waited for one of the Templars to reply first, informing the Archon that the elf had already been injured when their group encountered him and had come with them willingly. When he remained silent after that as well, the Archon inquired further. "Did your master do this to you?"

The elf hesitated. It was only briefly, lasting maybe two heartbeats, but enough for the Archon to notice. "Yes, he did." Apparently sensing the Archon's quizzically raised eyebrow, he added: "Indirectly."

"What a curious answer. Are you trying to waste my time?"

"No, your Highness."

"Can you explain to me what happened to the Templars who were found dead in the kitchen?"

The elf pressed his lips together in a sign of bitterness before he spoke. "They came to arrest my dom... the foreigner. He killed them with the aid of three of the strangers that arrived today."

"Did you raise arms against the Templars?"

"No." A pause, which the slave used to inhale deeply. "Your Highness."

One did not hold the position of Archon for over thirty years when you were unable to spot people skirting around the truth. "Did you raise your hand against them in any way?"

Would the bald slave dare to lie? He almost seemed to consider it, but then lifelong obedience overruled that moment of doubt. "I did."

"I see." The Archon's interest in the slave was waning. There were more pressing matters demanding his presence. "Anything else of importance you'd like to share with me?"

"There's a hidden passage in the cellar leading to the secret chamber where Danarius performed the ritual to create the lyrium markings and stored his research. The passage is behind an old tapestry with the symbol of the Chantry sun on it. The chamber can be accessed by pressing the sixth stone to the left, on the eleventh row when counting from the floor up."

"Well, well, I admit that does count as an interesting revelation." The Archon smiled. Danarius had always been a clever old fox, and very successful at guarding his secrets. Investigating this room could definitely be worthwhile. But not today. He turned around and addressed the Templars who were still waiting for new orders. "Come with me. Seal the mansion again for now. We have a rebellion to deal with."

"What about the slave?" the Templar who had lead the group that had found the slave asked.

The Archon stopped in front of what remained of the massive doors that had guarded the entrance, but did not turn back. "Kill him," he ordered nonchalantly. "Slaves can only be freed in front of an Imperial judge. This house has fallen to rebellion, and this is not a night for mercy." 

* * *

Hawke, Fenris, Aveline and Donnic, Varric, Merrill, and Bodahn and Sandal ran down the slope of the hill where the mansion was located, rain clattering down on their heads and soaking them to the bone. Chaos came rolling down in synch with their flight. Though the recently "freed" slaves had not outright followed them, they were spreading out in the adjacent streets and carried the spark of uprising with them like rats carried the plague.

No doubt the magisters would find this an apt comparison, but Damian was not happy with it either. No matter how quickly they rushed through Minrathous' winding streets in the direction of the sea and the only entrance and exit of the capital of Tevinter, fights erupted around them. "For freedom!" and "For the Champion!" seemed the main cries on top of the rebels' lungs.

Rather than shut the windows and bar their doors the people of Tevinter spilled outside to see what was going on. And joined the fray. Slaves turned on their masters and attacked them, or commoner and slave jumped the guards and Templars who tried to prevent the situation from escalating together. Damian saw a man with an impressive belly step out of a bakery, bellow "For the Champion!" and set a guard on fire with a snap of his fingers. Unlike in the rest of Thedas, studying magic at the Circle was an honor in Tevinter and not a near inescapable faith. Here mages could live among the common people and the slaves in addition to making up the oldest and most respected nobility.

Bemused Damian sprinted past the baker, scarcely able to believe what was happening around him. _What by the bloody Void did I do to inspire this?_ He had never been named Champion of Tevinter or Minrathous. Had the duel against magister Gaius earned him the title among the Imperial citizens? But that was so long ago... it seemed a lifetime, almost as long as the duel against the Arishok. Was this enough to make them care about his execution? He considered it more plausible that this single act had become the premise for a fantasy, a story moving on without him while still claiming him as its main character, turning him - just as with the foreign apostates - in a symbol of freedom, an inspiring idea to unite under and to fight for. It was bizarre to have something he had only done to get closer to a cure for Fenris turn into an act to be remembered and admired.

Despite the new civil war rearing its head wherever they went, they managed to make good progress and avoid getting dragged into the skirmishes. If they could stay ahead of the inevitable arrival of the magisters they had a good chance to get out of the city. Few - if any - people realized the Champion they were crying out their support for was dashing past them and trying to stay out of the fighting. Soon they neared the city walls and the gates. If not for the sounds of battle and the clattering of rain around them they might have been able to hear the sea.

When they reached the foot of the last hill Damian felt a tug at his cloak. Before he had fully turned around Fenris stumbled past him and fell on his hands and knees. The elf's breathing was shallow, bordered on hyperventilating. Even in the darkness of the stormy night Damian could see all blood had drained from Fenris' face and that he was as white as the sheet he had been wearing back in the mansion, while Hawke knew his own face was coloring red from the heat his body produced sprinting down Minrathous' hills. In this state Fenris would never be able to keep up with them. Damian was not exactly in great shape himself, panting like a workhorse and his sides aching from the physical exertion, but Fenris simply had not enough muscle mass left to walk properly, let alone travel the distance to get out of Tevinter at the pace required to escape the magisters. Damian cursed himself for his negligence to check on Fenris and see how he was holding up. He reached out to stroke the back of the elf's neck, but Fenris flinched under his fingertips and Damian withdrew his hand.

He was still trying to think of a way to help Fenris get on his feet again when Donnic stepped into his line of sight. "I'll carry him," the former guardsman announced matter-of-factly.

Hawke nodded silently while Donnic instructed Fenris to hold on to his shoulders and hoisted the elf on his back. Damian knew that if he had insisted to carry Fenris himself they would have to pick him up from the ground soon after. Fenris might not weigh much, but staying upright and keep moving would prove enough of a challenge as it was. His wounds continued to ache with enthusiasm and the lack of any form of physical exercise in the recent past had reduced his stamina to a pitiable amount.

Damian got up from his crouching position. The rest of the group was waiting for him and ready to move on. Through a curtain of raindrops he looked at the gates in the distance. _Not much farther. If we can make it out of Minrathous, leaving the Imperium shouldn't be too difficult._

Contemplating anything bordering on optimistic thoughts was a dangerous thing to do. Damian had just picked up the pace of a steady jog again when a red star suddenly rose up from the eastern side of the city walls. A second one climbed the dark sky on the western half shortly after. If he had had any doubt this was some sort of signal, confirmation followed suit. The opening in the walls slowly became smaller.

"They're closing the gates!" Hawke dashed forward into a sprint. The gates were still several hundred paces away. While running at full speed he frantically searched for the person responsible for blocking the exit. Eventually he spotted a figure moving on the walls. Hoping this was the guard who was casting the spell to close the gates Damian searched within himself for a way to stop the process. He found blood magic, still easily accessible thanks to all the throbbing cuts on his arm. He kept running, though his legs became heavier with every step, and forced blood and magic to work together and form a spell.

The figure - now clearly an armored guard - stopped moving. The stone did not. Whatever it was that had set the gates in motion, simply incapacitating the caster was not enough to undo it. If he did not find a way to at least slow down the steady progress they would be trapped. Damian clenched his hands into fists and harnessed the pain in his broken hand to keep moving. _No, no, no, no, no! Don't close the gate. Don't close the gate. DON'T CLOSE THE GATE!_

He almost tripped over his own feet in surprise when the huge stone doors of dwarven make - nearly as massive as the walls - halted abruptly. _How...?_

There was no time to consider an answer to this question. Getting through the limited space that was left was what mattered now. Others on or near the wall shouted something , but Damian could not see them. He doubted he would have been able to take them all down quickly enough even if he spotted them, so he ignored the voices and kept running. _Not much farther now._

An arrow flew over his head and hit the street somewhere behind him. The rest of the guards must have realized what had gone wrong and the gates started moving again, but they were now close enough to make it through. Aveline and Merrill were the first to rush through the steadily narrowing opening, followed by Varric, and Donnic with Fenris clinging to his back. Damian, Sandal and Bodahn were last. The gates fell shut behind them, the stone groaning when it could no longer continue to move.

"Hold... up," Damian managed between labored breaths. He gestured to the group they had to stay as close to the gates as possible. "They can... easily take us down while we... try to get away from the... walls."

Varric rummaged through his pockets and, grinning triumphantly, showed them a round object that appeared to be made of glass. "Smoke bomb," he explained. "With this weather and the darkness of night it should obscure us from their eyes."

"Excellent, Varric." Damian tried to ignore his burning lungs. "I will... cast a spell that should shield us from the worst of an attack if they do spot us."

"I can do the spell, Hawke." Merrill took the staff from her back and cast the shield spell without waiting for Damian to agree with her.

 _I could have done it._ His arm seemed to hurt less now, the pain temporarily numbed by giving in to the power of blood magic. Nothing could beat the sensation of wielding so much power. Enough power to bend others to his will... Damian knew that was what he had just done when he had momentarily stopped the gates from closing. He tried to conjure disgust at the thought of violating another's mind, but his practical side told him they would have stood on the other side of these locked gates if he had not acted the way he had.

He signaled to Varric to use the smoke bomb and the group left Minrathous behind.


	48. Chapter 48

They did not stop that entire night, determined to put as much distance between themselves and the city of the magisters as possible. The old Imperial highway led them in southwestern direction, farther inland and away from the Nocen Sea on their left. On their right lay the Valarian Fields, lush fertile grounds which supplied a lot of Imperial citizens with grain, fruit and vegetables. Behind the fields, off in the distance, the High Reaches stretched up into the sky. Or they should; with the rain and the blackness of night Tevinter's mountain range was shielded from their eyes.

While Damian trudged forth in a slow jog he tried to picture a map of Tevinter and determine how far they would have to travel. It would be a long journey. How many miles would it be from Minrathous to the Silent Plains? He guessed about six hundred fifty. If they could travel between three and four miles per hour, and keep going for at least eight hours a day...

Eventually Damian gave up on his calculations.  His mind refused to handle anything except forcing one foot in front of the other again, and again, and again. The numbing after-effects of blood magic had waned so now he felt the pain in his hand and arm as sharply as ever. He had to contend himself with a rough estimate of a journey of three weeks at least, and that was just to get to the Plains. Not something to look forward to.

The sun had already started her usual path along the heavens when Aveline called for a halt. Damian did not object to her suggestion they set up camp and get something to eat and try to sleep for a few hours. He was exhausted himself and had been feeling lightheaded for hours. A look around suggested none of the group members had much energy left in them. They were all pale-faced and stifling yawns while they dropped their packs on the ground and unpacked what they needed. Unfortunately the clouds still had not cleared and forced them to set up their tents in a determined drizzle. Fenris tried to get up and help after Donnic had let him slip off his back on the ground but Damian stopped him.

"It's alright, Fenris. We'll handle it."

Fenris looked unhappy at that but after several failed attempts to regain his footing on the muddy grass he gave up and watched them all with timid eyes. Damian tried to avoid looking at the elf's hunched figure and went to help Aveline and Donnic with their tent, though he was of limited use with only one hand. Because it was unlikely Danarius had been a fan of camping they had not searched for tents and bedrolls in the mansion, which meant they now were one tent and two bedrolls short. Bodahn and Sandal had a tent for the two of them, as did Aveline and Donnic. Merrill and Varric each had one of their own. Donnic glanced around, his eyes first drifting over the entire group, then returning from Fenris to Hawke. Sensing the suggestion Damian was about to make, Donnic's face hardened into a stern expression. "Fenris will sleep with me," he said before Damian could raise the issue himself. The former guardsman turned to his wife. "Do you mind sharing a tent with Merrill?"

Aveline shot Hawke a quick look before she nodded. "That's fine."

"Does that mean I'll have you in my bedroll, Hawke?" Varric - who had overheard the brief exchange - teased. "Just don't get any funny ideas, will you? Bianca is the jealous type."

Damian stared at Aveline and Donnic. If he was not so tired he would have been fuming with anger. Never mind that - he was exhausted and still furious. Did they honestly think they could keep Fenris away from him? What gave them the right to interfere? He chose to ignore Varric's joke. Every retort he could come up with at the moment was not funny in the least and would do the already tense atmosphere that hung between them no good. "Don't try to play games with me," he warned Donnic coldly.

Donnic met Hawke's gaze with an equally unfriendly look. "I don't consider Fenris' well-being to be a game."

He took the last camping equipment from Damian's hand and finished setting up the tent.

A chilling sense of cold spread across the fingers of Damian's left hand. When he raised it he saw the rain had frozen on his skin and formed a thin frosty layer, a mixture of blood and water. In his anger he had allowed some of his magic to escape and create ice.

"Are you finally going to heal that?"

He looked up from his hand at Aveline. Apparently she had not noticed the ice and only focused on his injuries. "No," he replied brusquely.

"It's twice the size of your other hand! It's obviously broken, and all those disgusting cuts...Why would you-"

"I already explained to you that my healing magic is not working well," he told her impatiently.

"That was when Feynriel had done something your magic," Aveline reminded him. "From what I gather that problem has been solved."

"And now I'm tired and don't have enough energy to heal." The truth was he did not want to try yet. Part of him was certain it would not work and he did not want to be faced with the loss of the powers he had once taken pride in quite so soon. But a different side of him simply did not want to mend the cuts in his skin. They might have made it out of Minrathous, but they had not permanently evaded danger yet. If he had to fight again he wanted to do it with every means at his disposal. Blood magic had freed him from Agnos and got them out of the city. Leaving his wounds open for quick and easy access to his powers seemed a wise precaution. He doubted Aveline would see it in the same way.

"Either you heal that mess or I'm going to set the bones in your hands."

Now there was another unappealing prospect. Damian cradled his hand against his chest and took a defensive step backwards. "You're no healer."

"Guards tend to end up with a few broken bones every now and then as well. It has taught me a thing or two."

"Keep your "things" to yourself. I'm fine."

"Hawke." The way Aveline could say his name never failed to make it sound like a warning. "You're not "fine" at all and that hand is the least of your problems. If you can't heal it, at least let me try to set the bones."

"I'll try," he consented. "But not now." Before Aveline could insist Damian turned his back on her and returned to Fenris, who was still sitting in the rain.

The hood of Fenris' cloak had sagged so his white hair was visible, soaked and plastered against his head. It had grown too long; nobody had cut it during his comatose state. When Damian crouched next to him Fenris looked up. In daylight the toll the lyrium poisoning had taken on him was clearly visible. Fenris' skin was rough, with numerous patches where it had been shedding. His cheeks were gaunt from malnourishment, the skin stretched tightly over the bones of his skull. The appearance of agelessness most elves were blessed with had been lost. Damian was reminded of a guessing game they had once held, during which all their friends had tried to determine Fenris' age. Then most estimates had been near Hawke's age, but now putting Fenris as ten years his senior seemed generous.

"How are you, Fenris?" he asked cautiously, uncertain how the elf would react to him this time.

"I am well, thank you, Master."

 _How am I ever going to get used to this?_ Damian reached out and tucked a strand of wet hair behind one of Fenris' pointy ears. "And now the truth, please."

He had spoken in a kind voice but Fenris' eyes widened in alarm. "Forgive me, Master," he pleaded. "I did not mean to lie to you. I am tired and sore. And hungry. But I-I'm fine. Master doesn't need to concern himself with-"

Damian tried to remain patient. There had to be a way to get through to Fenris. "I am not your master. And I'm not accusing you of lying. I merely wanted to know how you are feeling."

"Not my master? Then who..." Fenris turned his head from left to right, searching for someone else who could qualify. A staff appeared to be his primary criterion, because his eyes focused on Merrill. "Mistress," he mumbled.

"No," Damian sighed. "You don't have a master. You're free and one of us. Nobody here owns anyone."

Fenris' mossy green eyes were directed at him again. "I... I don't understand."

He looked so lost. Damian wanted to lean forward and kiss the elf's mouth. Kiss him in the rain and tell him it would be alright, tell him there was nothing to worry about and that he would always take care of him. But he knew if he tried Donnic would interfere, even if Fenris did not reject the move. Fenris could not reject him if he believed Damian was his master. He would probably do whatever was asked of him. Damian felt sick at that. Firmly he suppressed any thoughts concerned with kissing Fenris. Because he did have to do something to get Fenris' attention he took one of his hands in his own. "Hey, Fenris. Don't worry. There's nothing wrong, okay? You just mentioned you are sore. Can you show me where it hurts? After that I'll get you something to eat and you can go to sleep."

To his relief it worked. For a moment Fenris was distracted from his own panicked thoughts and focused on Damian's question. He gestured to his arms and thighs. "My arms and legs," he told Damian softly.

Damian let go of Fenris' hand and awkwardly pushed one sleeve up with his right hand to check. He quickly discovered the problem. Donnic's armor had chafed against Fenris' arms and caused large bruises. While he had refused to try a healing spell for his own sake mere moments ago he did not want to leave Fenris in pain if it could be avoided, even though Fenris' bruises were unlikely to be as painful as the cuts in his own arm and the fractured bones in his hand. He placed his hand on Fenris' triceps - or what little was left of it - and searched for the creation magic he needed. All he found was the throbbing sensation of his own injuries, and the gateway they formed to the power in his blood. No matter how hard he tried to push his weariness away, he could not reach the ability which had once come so naturally. All he achieved was increasing the itch to cast another blood magic spell. Maybe it would be easier when his wounds had healed? If it was not so easy to access his blood he might be able to draw on his mana again. He could still feel it, his magic was there, but he could not shape it and use it to extent his will.

Damian looked at his left hand with the deep, red gash running across the palm. The frost of his ice magic had already melted away again and the various cuts were weeping a pink liquid, part blood and part drainage. Maybe he should...

He heard an incoherent shout before he was pushed on his behind. Looking at his injured hand had drawn Fenris' attention to it as well and triggered another change in the elf's attitude. "Festis beio maleficarum!"

Fenris jumped over Damian and tried to flee but was quickly stopped by Merrill and Donnic, who did their best to calm the panicking man. Aveline helped Damian up while Donnic brought Fenris to their tent and ushered him in. "What was that all about?"

"You can set the bones in my hand," Damian said without looking at her. "And bandage the cuts after that. I'll take the first watch. I don't think I'll be able to get much sleep anyway."

* * *

The group broke up their camp in the afternoon and continued their journey. The tension among the members was tangible and they spoke little during the following days. Fenris appeared to have forgotten there was any reason to be afraid of Damian and persisted in addressing him as "master". Damian kept denying ownership over Fenris, which in turn led to Fenris worrying or even panicking about what was to become of him. The others kept their thoughts to themselves. Occasionally they attempted to have a conversation with Fenris, but the exchanges tended to be brief. Especially Donnic and Merrill tried to set the former warrior's mind at ease and made an effort to earn his trust, but even after relatively successful exchanges Fenris never gave any sign he remembered what had been said to him and they were back to where they started.

After a week Bodahn and Sandal split from the rest of the group. "If it's all the same to you, Messere, my boy and I will go our own way from here," Bodan informed Hawke on the morning of the eighth day of their journey. "I don't think the Silent Plains are a place we want to venture."

"We haven't decided yet whether we'll be travelling through the Plains," Aveline assured the merchant.

Damian shook his head. "We're going to the Silent Plains. I still don't trust the magisters to leave us alone. If Claudius can track me through the Fade..."

Aveline gave him a disapproving look. "Hawke, we should not risk-"

This time Damian received unexpected support from Donnic, who grabbed his wife's hand and squeezed it gently. "Aveline, I don't think we should split up. We can't let them enter the Plains on their own. It's better if we stay together."

Aveline did not look satisfied, nor reassured, but when she realized nobody else would support her she relented. Bodahn laughed awkwardly at the one-sided discussion. "Well, like I said, the Silent Plains is no place for us. Don't you worry about us. My boy and I will be fine."

Damian shook the dwarf's hand. "Thank you for everything, Bodahn," he said sincerely. "I can never repay you for what you and your son did for Fenris."

"Happy to help, Messere," Bodahn waved the praise away. "I'm sorry my boy couldn't do more to help your friend."

Quickly Damian swallowed the fresh lump in his throat away. "He has done enough. Fenris is alive and that's all that matters."

Bodahn tugged at Sandal's sleeve. "Say goodbye, my boy," he instructed the simple dwarf.

"Goodbye." Obediently the dwarf blinked with his light blue eyes. He pointed at Fenris. "Not enchantment."

Damian frowned. "You mean you removed the enchantment? But the markings are still there."

A nod from Sandal. "Not enchantment. Gone."

"Perhaps he means they no longer work?" Varric suggested. "Elf once told me those things show through whatever he wears, but they don't seem to do that now. I haven't seen him glow anymore either."

Bodahn shrugged apologetically, unsure as well how to interpret his son's cryptic remark. "I'm afraid I don't know what he means, Messere. Sandal's abilities can be a mystery even to me."

After collecting their wares the two dwarves set off in southwestern direction, to Orlais. Damian Hawke and his companions continued to follow the Imperial highway to the blighted Silent Plains.

* * *

 

The Silent Plains were unlike anything any of them had ever seen before. The land was dead and barren, all vegetation black and gnarled. Trees without leaves had twisted themselves in unnatural angles and seemed to reach out with sharp, claw-like branches ready to catch their prey. Shrubbery with long, hard thorns occasionally obscured the groups path, shredding everything that got caught in them to ribbons. In some places the ground was burning hot and steam reeking of sulfur escaped from its cracks. They passed pools with black, boiling mud or water with strange colors: dark orange, yellow or a bright, dirty green. Flesh-like blobs dotted the sand or appeared to grow on the rocks and dead trees. To complement the desolation of the landscape, a seemingly permanent fog dimmed all daylight that managed to shine through the clouds.

Damian almost regretted insisting on taking this route. Everything about the Plains was so unnatural and corrupted it made his skin crawl. Was this what had become of Ferelden? Of Lothering? Foreigners and Fereldans alike used to joke about the amount of brown dirt and the smell of wet dog that characterized the country, but compared to the filth and stench of rotten eggs of the Plains it had been a paradise. The already tense relationships within the group suffered under the pressing sense of destruction and corruption, despite encountering little trouble with the few tainted creatures roaming the land. Even Fenris in his state of severe dementia was not immune to the effect.

After five days on the Silent Plains Aveline came to see Hawke. They had set up camp for the night but not bothered with the tents because the Plains tended to be dry and warm. Damian had taken the first watch and sat at a moderate distance away from the others, next to a small fire he had made for himself. His hand was healing slowly. He knew that without the power of magic the fractures would not heal properly and his hand likely end up deformed, but there was little he could do. Nothing, to be more precise. He had regained some of his healing abilities and was now capable of healing bruises and scratches, but something as complex as a crushed hand proved beyond his powers. The slow recovery of his healing magic was accompanied by an intense longing to cast blood magic burning in his veins as well. He feared he would already have given in to the craving without the distraction of their long journey.

Aveline sat down next to him. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine." The usual answer rolled off his tongue without effort.

She sighed. "Hawke." His name was not a warning this time, not even a reprimand. Instead it sounded flat, with a hint of compassion and sadness. "You'll have to talk about it eventually. You can't keep stuffing everything inside."

Damian stared into the flames of his campfire. "I don't feel the need to discuss my feelings with you."

Of course that was no reason for Aveline to give up. "This whole situation with Fenris..." she began. "Have you considered... playing along?"

He eyed her suspiciously from the corner of his eyes. "Playing along? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean it might be better if you... if you stop trying to contest his delusional point of view. Right now it keeps upsetting both of you."

Slowly Damian turned to look at her. "You're saying I should treat him as my slave."

"No!" Another helpless sigh. "Perhaps. I don't mean you have to order him around, of course, or take advantage of him. But I see how distressing it is for him and you if you argue with him about whether he is a slave. It might calm him if you go along with his perceptions."

"I won't."

"But if you-"

"I said I won't, Aveline!" he shouted at her. "Fenris is not my slave and I will not pretend that he is. I will _not_ be Danarius for him! I can't... I won't. I'm not him. I'm not Danarius," he repeated, more to himself.

The flames of the fire shot up at his anger, flaring up over their heads. Aveline leaned back a little to avoid the intensifying heat. "Alright. It was just a suggestion."

Damian watched the fire shrink back to its original size, with the flames only reaching to their knees. He could not remember ever slipping in the control over his magic during his time in Kirkwall, and yet it had happened repeatedly since Tevinter. The situation with Fenris kept putting him on edge. "I just..." his voice broke on the whisper. "I just can't believe he's gone." To his own dismay he felt tears roll down his cheeks.

Aveline placed a comforting hand on his back and pulled him a little closer. She did not say anything yet, patiently waiting if he wanted to say something else.

"I hardly recognize him," he said softly. "It's not just that he forgot about his escape, and us... We could start anew if it was just that, if he had lost his memory again. But now nothing seems to stick with him. Sometimes I think he understands and accepts that he is not a slave, but an hour later he goes back to calling me "master" again. There's no progress at all. How can that all have been lost? I look at him and I think there must be _something_ of all those years that is still there, but if there is it refuses to come out." He took a raspy breath. " For years I wished he would stop being so damned stubborn and just _give in_ for once. Now I would give anything to not have to tell him what to do. When to eat, when to sleep... for everything he needs instructions. He would have hated it that we see him like this."

"I'm sorry, Hawke."

"No, don't." Damian drew away from her, roughly rubbing his face to dry his tears. "Save your sympathy for Fenris. He's the one who deserves it." He tossed a few twigs in the flames, more to do something than to sustain the fire. When he next spoke his voice had a bitter tone. "I promised him I would fix it. I swore I would find a way to heal him. I would do it right this time. I would not fail him like I failed my family. I never did enough to save them. They're all dead because of it. Bethany, Mother, Carver. Even Gamlen."

"Carver?" Aveline echoed in disbelief. "Hawke, Carver is alive. He survived the Deep Roads, remember?"

Damian made a face. "I know that. He became a Grey Warden so darkspawn could finish what they started a few years later."

"How do you know this? Have the Wardens contacted you?"

"No," he admitted. "I saw him. In the Fade, when I tried to get information on the ritual out of Danarius. They were all there: Father, Mother, Bethany and Carver. And Gamlen. They're all dead."

Aveline was silent for a moment while she tried to understand what he had just told her. She sounded a little hesitant, yet determined, when she opened her mouth again. "I can't say I'm very familiar with the Fade, but from what you and Merrill have told me it seems a realm of deception and illusion. How can you be certain it was not just a trick? Maybe demons or Danarius manipulated you into seeing the ghosts of your family."

"Do you think that's possible?" Damian could not help but sound hopeful. He had never dared to question the authenticity of his family's appearance. Danarius had been real, so why wouldn't they be? Had they been demons in disguise he would have sensed it. Trying to fool himself into thinking Carver was still alive was a hope he could not sustain. Having it dashed when he received confirmation of his younger brother's death would be too painful. Damian cursed himself for bringing it up with Aveline. Now she had planted the seed of doubt in his mind.

Aveline sensed his confliction and got to her feet. "Contact him, Hawke. Carver is as stubborn as you are, which means a few darkspawn are not going to be enough to kill him."

Damian stared ahead while her footsteps started to move away from him. He forced his thoughts away from Carver and the rest of his family. He could not cope with what would likely be false hope. Fenris should be his primary focus for now. It would not take them much longer to leave the Silent Plains behind, and this made a long-lingering issue more pressing. "Aveline," he called his oldest friend - the woman who had filled some of the emptiness little Bethany had left behind - back.

She halted and turned around, waiting to hear what he had to say.

Damian did not look her in the eye when he spoke. "If Donnic tries to take Fenris away from me, I will kill him."

In the silence that followed he could feel the bond they had built up over the years shatter. He watched Aveline carefully, prepared for an assault from the warrior, but she stood as if he had frozen her. "I do not appreciate you threatening me, Hawke," she eventually warned in a cold, calm voice.

Damian shrugged innocently. "I'm not threatening you," he corrected. "It was merely a warning."

"No. No, it wasn't."

Damian did not contest her a second time. He sensed Aveline's eyes on him. The warm feeling of trust and compassion that had hung between them minutes ago had turned into an unforgiving chill. "Fenris needs to be kept safe," he stated matter-of-factly in response to Aveline's reproachful silence.

"Which means he stays with you."

Damian smiled faintly, not out of amusement but mere acceptance of the way things happened to be. He would take care of Fenris. He owed him that much. "Incidentally, yes."

The final remnants of Aveline's disbelief disappeared. "What has that place done to you?" she asked with audible disgust.

He laughed softly at that. "What place? Minrathous? Or Kirkwall? Because I can assure you Minrathous didn't do anything that Kirkwall already has."

She had no reply to that. For a while they remained that way, Damian sitting next to the campfire, Aveline standing stiffly several paces away. Both waited for the other to relent, offer an apology, an assurance it would not need to go that far. Neither of them gave in. "You're right," Aveline spat finally. "You don't deserve sympathy." With heavy steps she marched away.

Damian did not watch her go. He could not count on her not to side with Donnic if the moment for their group to disband came. And he could not risk losing Fenris because of that.

* * *

Damian lay on his side on his bedroll with his back to the group's larger campfire, still very much awake. Varric was holding watch at the moment, so he had the bedroll to himself. But despite the absence of the dwarf's loud snoring he could not sleep. His conversation with Aveline kept repeating itself in his head, along with the question whether he had done the right thing. His conclusion was always the same, and yet the cycle continued.

When he heard slow, soft footsteps approach him from behind he did not need to look to know that it was Fenris. Damian shut his eyes to pretend he was asleep but the elf either saw through his act or did not care. "Master."

"Stop calling me that."

"Yes, Dominus."

Damian groaned but did not turn around. "What do you want, Fenris?"

"May I lay with you, Dominus?"

"Are you cold in your own bedroll?"

"No..."

"Then no. Go back."

No sound of retreat. Fenris appeared to be in a stubborn mood. "The soldier snores."

Damian grinned briefly at that. It was almost enough to believe some of Fenris' old self was still there. Almost. "So does Varric," he retorted. "And I probably do too. I recall you complaining about it once. I still refuse to believe it, but... well, never mind. Just let me try to sleep."

Fenris still refused to leave. "The stars are falling out of the sky," he said after a while.

Now Damian rolled on his back. He saw the persistent fog had finally cleared for once and revealed a black sky with countless stars. Without the constant smell of bad eggs it would have been a romantic sight. After a few seconds a star abandoned its place and shot across the sky high above his head, a tail of light dragging behind it. More followed.

"In Ferelden they say you can make a wish if you see a shooting star," Damian told Fenris after they had watched the stars for a couple of minutes. He looked at Fenris, who was sitting next to him while Damian still lay on his back. "Do you want to make a wish?"

"I only wish to serve you."

 _This will never fail to hurt._ "But isn't there something beyond that? Something for yourself, not for me?" he tried.

Fenris did not need to think long on his second wish. "I wish for you to be happy."

Damian felt his mouth quiver. He blinked until the blurred stars shone bright again. "That's still not something for you," he said softly. "Is there anything _you_ want?"

"I want to stay with you."

He sighed, wondering how this could be exactly what he wanted to hear and still not feel right somehow. "I promise I won't let anything separate us, Fenris. We will stay together."

"What do you wish?" The question was asked timidly, as if Fenris feared he had overstepped.

"I have learned it's best not to have too many wishes," Damian replied. "Even if they are fulfilled you often lose something else. My wishes tend to destroy others."

Now it was Fenris' turn to insist. "But if you could wish something and nothing else would go wrong? Do you not have any wishes then?"

Damian looked at Fenris. It was pitch-black on the Plains, so he could hardly see anything. The only illumination came from the stars and the campfire behind Fenris. The elf's white hair and the glinting of his eyes was all Damian could make out. _You're alive. And you'll stay with me._ "No." He smiled, the first genuine smile to find its way to his face in a long time. "I've got everything I could ever wish for."


	49. Chapter 49

He sent Fenris back to Donnic when Varric's watch ended. Their conversation had come to an end with the topic of wishing on a star, but Fenris had not moved from his spot next to Hawke, and Damian had not tried to turn him away. In the absence of both light and sound it was almost possible to believe all was well and nothing had changed between them. Foolish as it was, Damian could not bring himself to disrupt his own illusion any sooner than needed. He ignored Varric's quizzical hums upon the dwarf's return and closed his eyes to finally find the natural way into the Fade, where even brighter stars and a healthy Fenris were already waiting for him, given life by his own desires.

Their small group broke up camp when dawn had set in. The Plains were far too treacherous to be travelled without ample light, with the ground itself often their main enemy. After centuries of neglect the old Imperial Highway had become practically nonexistent. Merrill had ended up with burns on the soles of her feet more than once after stepping on boiling hot soil, and both Varric and Hawke had noticed a thinning of their boots, probably due to a treacherous combination of heat and acid. Aveline's and Donnic's footwear was more sturdy, but they too had to beware not to step into obscured puddles of black, bubbling mud. Even when the sun was at its highest the rays which reached the Plains only provided a dim, filthy light. Today appeared to be no different; the usual fog and clouds had gathered around and above them, the night's starry sky nothing but a wishful memory. A warm wind blew against their backs, carrying more of the Plains' disgusting stench with it. Kirkwall's docks had smelled like a meadow in comparison.

Hawke, Merrill and Varric formed the front of the group while Donnic, Fenris and Aveline followed. Donnic still carried Fenris most of the journey. Although the elf's condition was improving he still needed a lot more time to rehabilitate. Despite his portions being considerably bigger than what had sustained him during his coma, their steadily shrinking rations did not provide optimal nutrition for his recovery. Damian had noticed that the sleeves of his own robes were no longer as tight as they had been several weeks ago. A good thing, but he had still not returned to the shape he had been in during his time as a mercenary in Kirkwall. Not that he particularly cared about that at the moment. Even basic rules of hygiene could not be adhered to during their travels, so worrying about appearances was low on his list of priorities.

They made good progress again that day, only interrupted twice by an attack of starved blight wolves, which were taken care of swiftly. Two more days and they should make it out of the Silent Plains. A little while longer and Damian could start a new life somewhere. With Fenris. Nothing would stop him then. He glanced at Aveline, but she promptly turned her back on him and went to help Merrill prepare their modest meal. Again Varric made a few noises to express his curiosity, but refrained from outright asking a question. They honored the name of the Silent Plains by not speaking a word that evening.

Their silence persisted for the remainder of the journey, with only the bare necessities being exchanged occasionally. On the day they would set up camp for the last time Damian removed the bandages from his arm and hand. The cuts had healed - more or less. Most still looked red and swollen, but even the deep gash in his hand had closed a while ago. He had continued to cover them to hide the evidence of his blood magic from judgmental eyes. Not that he believed his companions were likely to forget about it, but at the very least it gave Fenris one reason less to freak out. Damian let the old bandages fall to the ground and dug them into the dirt with his boot. Now he might need to use the magic again soon. He would be ready.

Inconspicuously he reached for the knife behind his belt and tried to squeeze the sharp blade, but his left hand refused to close properly. Pain flared up and spread from the center of it to his fingers until they became numb. Damian had to suppress the urge to curse loudly, instead limiting himself to frustrated grumbling as he withdrew his hand. His body was doing a poor job at healing the fractures. His knuckles had become larger and now limited the flexibility of his fingers, which were stuck in a slightly bent position. He did not bother trying to stretch them. From the looks of it his pink and thumb would retain the most dexterity. The other fingers resisted anything more than a small wiggle.

Confronted with the extent of the deformity for the first time, Damian instinctively reached for the magic inside him to try to repair some of the damage, but the healing spell lighting up in his palm sputtered and faded. He only succeeded in taking away the worst of the pain and restore sensation in his fingers. Not a bad result altogether, but compared to his old powers it remained disappointing.

In frustration Damian grabbed the knife with his other hand and quickly slashed it across the barely healed red line on his palm. Blood welled up, trickled from the wound and immediately he sensed that his connection to blood magic was restored. It was comforting, a reassuring balm for the failure of his healing abilities. The pit in his stomach heated up pleasantly at the promise of unparalleled power and complete control. He knew this would set back the possibility of restoring his healing magic again, even if he did not actually cast a spell with his blood. It had become easier to access and give shape to his mana once the last cut had closed and a thin layer of skin shielded his blood from the air. The power to heal others had also recovered more quickly than the ability to heal himself. During their journey through the Silent Plains he had had little difficulty curing the burns on Merrill's feet or the bruises on Fenris' arms after he had been carried by Donnic. Perhaps he had just ruined the last chance that his magic recovered in time to fix his hand, but right now the arousal that came with the promise of blood magic trumped those concerns.

Feeling more secure, Damian put the knife away before it would draw the attention of the others, but when he looked around he saw Merrill staring at him. He considered silently challenging her - who was she to judge after all? - by staring back, but something in the Dalish' eyes made him avert his head instead. 

* * *

It took them four hours to reach the edge of the Silent Plains the following day. Damian initially thought his eyes were fooling him when he spotted the first hint of green off in the distance. A beautiful, lush green, not the filthy shade of sulfur which covered so much of the cursed landscape they had been walking through. It turned out to be more than an illusion conjured up by his imagination. There were trees there, proud and alive with thousands of leaves, and shrubs, and grass. They all sped up at the promise of healthy, natural land until they were practically running the last couple of miles.

Bursts of relieved laughter erupted from them when they finally left the last tainted ground behind. Varric promptly sat down in the grass with a smile on his face, something he could never have been tempted to do on Sundermount. Merrill hugged the nearest tree with glee. Once they had caught their breath and shaken the last feeling of oppression off, Varric gave voice to the question that was starting to dawn on them all: "So... whereto now?" The sense of relief tilted and turned into insecurity, as if an ogre had just shown up to kick them back to blighted land. To lighten the mood he added his own suggestion. "I vote for the nearest tavern for a pint."

Damian leaned on his staff. "Fenris and I will follow the Minanter River. There should be several cities along the way but I intend to find something near a small village. The fewer people who see us, the better. If we can't find anything in Nevarra we'll head to the Anderfels."

For the first time since their last conversation Aveline addressed him directly. "You would travel all that way North again? That's the direction we came from!"

"You don't say," he sighed. "I told you before that crossing the Plains was to throw potential hunters off our trail. Now we can head where we want to go. Nevarra and the Anderfels are my only option. I won't risk travelling through the Free Marches and I'm not going anywhere near Orlais."

The group fell silent, exchanging glances and everyone waiting for someone else to speak up. They all appeared to doubt separating would be this easy, but no-one dared to point out the figurative dragon in the room. In an attempt to relax and calm his tense nerves Damian dug up his water skin and took a few large gulps. When everything was still quiet after that he beckoned Fenris to come towards him. "How about it, Fenris?" he asked gently. "Are you up for some more travelling? The worst is behind us, I promise."

Fenris' soft green eyes drifted over his face before being cast down. The damage the lyrium had done to the arteries had been healed; the white of the elf's eyes was no longer colored red. It made his gaze a lot less unnerving, but they were still the eyes of a slave staring up at Hawke. The submissiveness could not be erased so easily. "Yes, Master."

The corners of Damian's mouth twitched upward in what was supposed to be an encouraging smile, but it ended up as a weak grimace. At least Fenris could not see it anyway with his head lowered. Damian straightened his shoulders and looked at his old friends. "Alright. If that's all... I am... grateful that you came all this way to help Fenris. If you had not found Sandal, I don't think he would have survived. So, thank you." His eyes went from Varric to Merrill and from Aveline to Donnic. "It's time for us to part ways. I hope you can all build a life somewhere else. I wish you all the best." Stiffly he balanced his staff against his left hand, taking Fenris' satchel with his right and slinging it over his shoulder with his own bag. _Is it really going to be this easy?_

Donnic stepped forward, staring at the others in disbelief. "Are you going to allow this?" he asked at nobody in particular. "You're just going to let him take Fenris?"

_...of course it isn't._

Damian pressed his staff harder against his hand. He had kept the cut bleeding by continuously disturbing it. If need be, he could use blood magic immediately. Because nobody else said anything he decided to wait before resorting to more drastic measures. "Something on your mind, Donnic?"

"You could say that," the other man agreed. "I won't allow this."

"I don't believe you have any say in this matter."

Donnic appeared determined. "Someone has to. You haven't been very forthcoming with information about your stay in Tevinter, but I know what I've seen. You lived as a magister with a house full of slaves. Fenris was being held prisoner while you turned to foul, forbidden magic. Now he acts like he is your slave. I cannot stand by when he is claimed by a new master. He would not have wanted this."

Damian's face contorted in contempt. "What do you know of what Fenris would have wanted?"

"I was his friend."

"Friend!" he exclaimed. "When the trouble with the markings began, when he started hearing demons, were you there for him? No. You turned away, avoided him. You all did! I was the only one there for him!" He jabbed a thumb at himself. "Fenris nearly killed me, but I remained at his side. Everything I did, I did to save him."

"I know, and I'm not proud of that," Donnic admitted more quietly. "I think I can speak for all of us when I say that. I haven't been a good friend when Fenris needed it most, which is why I'm here, to right that wrong. I won't let him be your slave."

His staff was starting to feel slick with blood now. It was as if the gash wanted to tempt him into using its magic by bleeding more profusely. With the flames of his anger fanning, Damian felt his self-control slipping. "Fenris is not my slave! And what exactly is the alternative you're proposing here? That he goes with you and Aveline? He will act just as much as a slave with you as he will with me."

"We'll bring him to a healer. A _true_ healer. We'll see what can be done to restore his memory."

" _Nothing_ can be done to heal him. The lyrium poisoning-"

Donnic's hand went to the hilt of his sword. "I will not trust the word of a mind-controlling blood mage on that."

"I have never used blood magic for mind control!"

"That's not true."

Damian nearly dropped his staff at Merrill's sudden interference. With the ongoing silence of his friends he had already assumed this would be a matter between Donnic and himself. "What?"

Merrill looked like she wanted to cry when he stared at her, shaking with fury. Yet she was not intimidated into silence. "You used it when we were leaving Minrathous. I sensed it."

 _Thanks, Merrill. Thank you_ so _much._ "Fine," he snapped. "Maybe I did. But that was to stop the guards from closing the gates. If I had not done it we would still be on the other side of those walls. I didn't even realize I was doing it at the time. It just... happened in the heat of the moment."

"It just happened," Donnic echoed incredulously. "You can't even control your evil magic and yet you claim Fenris will be better off in your care?"

"How evil is it if it prevented the magisters from having your head on a pike?" Damian retorted. "By all means, go back there and knock on the gates. See how well you'll manage without me."

"Enough." Donnic shook his head. "Fenris is coming with us. We'll find someone to help him, and if not he will be cared for."

The blood was burning in his veins, heating up to a boiling point and begging for merciful release. Damian knew he could not hold himself back for much longer, and he cared less and less about that. Nobody would take Fenris away from him. He would not allow it.

Seemingly sensing Hawke's weakening rein on his powers Donnic unsheathed his sword. He raised his free hand as a sign to calm down. "I do not wish to fight you, serah Hawke."

"Donnic, no!" Aveline reached for her sword as well.

"Please don't fight," Merrill chirped.

"I warned you, Aveline!" Damian bared his teeth mockingly at Donnic. "You'd better make that one blow count. I'm a blood mage after all. There's no way of knowing what I'll do. I could make your blood burn, impale you on ice, or simply slow your assault to a crawl. Maybe I should try if I _can_ twist your mind? Or maybe I'll just break every bone in your body. I haven't done that in quite a while."

Varric got to his feet, quickly dusting himself off. "Hey now, guys," he said with forced cheer. "There's no need for that. I'm sure we can work this little tiff out without resorting to a contest in creative violence. You both mean well. How about we ask Elf here with whom he wants to go?"

Damian and Donnic threw in their protests almost simultaneously. "What do you think you're doing, Varric?" Damian bit back. "He can't-"

"Fenris is no state to decide this. We should-"

Varric held up both hands to silence them. Begrudgingly they heeded his request. "I think he would appreciate at least asking him, don't you?" He marched towards Fenris on his short legs. "So, what'll it be, Elf? Is there someone you want to stay with?"

Everyone stared at Fenris, who was still standing next to Hawke and had been following the argument with quiet fear, like a deer surrounded by hunters debating who should be allowed the first strike. His eyes widened at Varric's question, then shot back and forth between Hawke and Donnic. Damian felt beads of sweat rolling down his temples. He was still trying to keep his powers in check, damming the stream of magic swirling restlessly within him, but small bits managed to leak through, sparking between his fingers. Cold spread from the tips, the blood dripping from his wrist into his sleeve froze. If they believed he would let Fenris go they were mistaken.

Fenris nudged a little closer to him. "I will stay with my master." He sounded proud of that, as if he believed this was some sort of test and he had just passed it.

Damian exhaled through his mouth. Had he been holding his breath?

"See, this is what I mean!" Donnic was not of a mind to back down easily either. "He believes Hawke is his master. You cannot claim this is a free choice."

Varric shrugged. "It's probably the closest we're going to get."

"He could have used blood magic to make Fenris say what he wants!"

Varric gave Merrill a questioning look. "Daisy?"

The Dalish had her fingers pressed against her mouth. Her large eyes shone with unshed tears. Damian feared what she was going to say. She must have sensed the bursts of magic escaping from him. She had seen him make the cut and the blood coating his hand now could not have escaped her notice either. Would it be possible she interpreted it the wrong way? The very suggestion he would warp Fenris' mind was sickening. Void take them, if they believed that he would fight them all. When she spoke through her fingertips he could scarcely hear her above the buzzing sound in his head. "He didn't use it."

Donnic looked genuinely bewildered. He clearly questioned the sanity of everyone around him. "So you honestly think there's nothing wrong with this situation? You would entrust Fenris to what he has fought so long for to be free of?"

A brief glimmer of discomfort danced in Varric's eyes before the dwarven rogue managed to smother it with his charming smile. "Hawke and Elf go a long way back. I don't think it's him Elf has been fighting against."

"I see." Donnic turned around, the realization that the two other members of the group would not defend his position either finally dawning on him. "Fenris was your _friend_. You can't do this to him." With only silence as his answer he focused on his wife. "You can't believe this is right," he told her. "You can't."

"It's for the best." Aveline tried to put a hand on Donnic's sword arm but he jerked away. "Donnic..."

"No, Aveline," he countered. "I can't do this. I stood by and did nothing when you allowed an abomination to roam free, an abomination who ended up destroying the Chantry and murdering the Grand Cleric. You failed your duty to protect the people of Kirkwall but I did not blame you because I believed you were loyal to your friends to a fault, and I could respect that. But now..." his voice shook, "Now I see your loyalty is limited to _him_ alone."

Aveline looked about as helpless as she had when she had been coerced into going on a patrol with Donnic to be alone with him. "It's not that simple. Please, you have to understand-"

"No." Donnic shook his head. "I don't understand and I do not wish to either. I know you went through a lot together, but this is no longer the man who earned your affection. You're defending a slaver and a blood mage, the accomplice of a terrorist. If this is the kind of man on whose side you want to stand, I can't be on yours any longer."

He turned his back on her and looked at the others. "I have no hope to best you without support. May the Maker forgive me." The warrior put his sword back in its scabbard and headed for the Imperial highway without another word.

Merrill, Varric and Hawke were still watching him go when Aveline raised her blade and took a step toward Damian. "So this is the part where you take everything I once owed you for away from me." It sounded like a question, but it had no answer. "I didn't want it to come to this, Hawke. It didn't have to be this way." Two more steps.

"It doesn't need to be. Donnic's accusations were baseless. Don't turn on me because he is wrong."

"You made it necessary." Her sword was pointing at his heart now. Damian made no move, but he hardened his skin until it was strong as stone. If she wanted to strike him she would have to aim for his eyes, maybe his mouth...

He had only heard tears in her voice once before, and that was almost ten years ago. "I still owe you one thing," she said. Her sword was shaking. "You once saved me. I owe you a life, but this is the cost." She turned her arm and threw the weapon at his feet. Immediately she took a step back, then looked at Fenris. Her expression softened briefly. "I'm sorry, Fenris. You deserved better."

Damian wanted to say something, tell her he regretted how this had gone down, that it had never been his intent to destroy her marriage, but Aveline did not give him the chance. The hurt her voice had betrayed mere moments ago was replaced by what sounded an awful lot like contempt. "Whatever you've become, whatever cause you claim or deny, you are _nothing_ to me." She pushed past him, hurrying after her husband. "Goodbye, Hawke. Live as you choose."


	50. Chapter 50

Their party, now counting only four people, crossed the old bridge to get to the southern side of the Minanter River, then left the Imperial highway to follow the river in northeastern direction. They spent a night in the capital to get cleaned up and restock on some of the most essential supplies. Damian purchased trousers - again - and a couple of linen tunics. With his Tevinter robes he stood out far too much.

"Late spring is surprisingly warm in Nevarra," he remarked to Varric after having paid the merchant. "I hope it doesn't get as hot here as in Antiva or Tevinter during the summer."

"Spring?" Varric scoffed and checked whether Bianca was still securely strapped on his back. "Try early autumn. Won't be long till the leaves start falling."

Some of the coins the merchant offered as change slipped through Damian's fingers and rolled around his feet. He crouched down to pick them up. "Summer has passed? But... it was winter when I dueled the magister. It can't have been that long ago."

Varric eyed him with concern. Damian quickly straightened to no longer be level with the his confused stare. "You still haven't told us what happened in Minrathous," the rogue tried. "What have you been doing that you lose track of entire seasons?"

Sighing, Damian put the silver and copper coins in his purse. "Not now, Varric. Maybe one day I'll tell you, but... not now."

"That bad?"

They headed back to the tavern where they had spent the night to get Merrill and Fenris and continue their journey. "Let's just say that Fenris would despise me if he still had his memory and leave it at that." He expected the dwarf to ask the dreaded question after this reply, but Varric remained silent. When they had almost reached their destination Damian could no longer hold his tongue. "Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask what?"

"Whether I destroyed Fenris' mind on purpose because he would be furious with me otherwise."

Varric scratched his cheek with two gloved fingers. "I wasn't going to ask that. I don't doubt things have gotten heated between you and Elf but I don't believe you would do that to him. And if you have..." he shrugged. "I really don't want to know."

* * *

It took them almost two weeks to reach Caimen Brea, the next large city on their side of the Minanter River. Their pace was slower now Fenris had to walk more of the distance himself. They passed numerous small villages on the way, but so far none had had houses for sale. In communities like these few people ever moved away and accommodation was usually passed on to the younger generation. Though he had the coin to afford it, Damian decided against building a house himself in one of the villages. A foreigner suddenly showing up out of nowhere and with enough coin to afford wealthy city life going through the trouble of having a house built in a town cartographers did not bother to put on a map would raise suspicion. So they kept moving from village to village in search of a new place to live, out of the reach of magisters, Templars, the Chantry and whoever else had put Hawke on their shit list. He was already starting to believe they would have to venture into the Anderfels when Fate finally mustered a smile for them.

They had been about to move on, the village elder having given the same answer as all his predecessors, when Damian spotted an old, neglected track leading into the small forest bordering the village and decided to follow it on a whim. After roughly twenty minutes they reached a wooden hut, roughly the same size as Gamlen's home in Lowtown had been. It looked neglected and had obviously been abandoned. The garden was overgrown and filled with weeds, the roof consisted of more holes than straw and the door was not even locked, allowing them to step inside and oversee the interior: an interesting combination of dusty and moldy. Even during his time in Lowtown, before he had lived in an estate as a noble, Damian would have turned up his nose for this shack, but the time he could allow himself to be knocked off his feet by his own pride had passed. He had to accept his return to a humble life as a peasant. And so he turned around, the others on his heels, and went back to the village and the elder to inquire about the abandoned hut.

He had to repeat the question several times before the elder realized what he was talking about. Apparently the common tongue was rarely spoken in these parts. "Ah, yes, yes," the man nodded his balding head when he finally remembered the house Damian was referring to. The elder's skin was a web of wrinkles, the result of a lifetime of working in the open air. His large, round nose was the most prominent feature of his face. That was, until his smile revealed the loss of multiple teeth over the years. "Old house. Strange woman used to live there. Gone now. Consumption." He faked a few coughs to make sure Damian understood what he meant.

"If nobody lives there anymore, why didn't you mention it when I asked whether you had any vacant houses?"

The elder spread his hands in what was supposed to be an apologetic gesture but looked more like an expression of disinterest. "You asked for place in village. That not in village."

"I'd like to purchase it."

The elder narrowed his cloudy grey eyes. It was the look of a simple man trying to decide whether he should take advantage of the opportunity to make a profit. After his gaze had drifted over Bianca, the staves of Damian and Merrill with the sharp blades at the end, and the strange markings on Fenris' neck, he appeared to decide it was best not to risk it. "No need," he muttered reluctantly. "Not in village. Nobody owns it."

Damian dug in his purse for a gold sovereign and handed it to the man. "For your trouble." He looked at the two elves and the dwarf standing behind him. "Looks like I've reached my destination."

* * *

 

Varric and Merrill helped make the shack livable and turn it into something that could be called 'home'. What could be saved was kept and repaired and what could not was replaced. Within a week most of the essential work had been done. The roof was no longer leaking, the most essential furniture in place. It was the last day before his friends' departure. Merrill was helping Damian restore order to the overgrown garden. It was too late to grow much in it this year - to survive the winter he would have to trade with the villagers - but with some luck he could still plant some vegetables and herbs and harvest them before winter's frost chilled the ground.

"I didn't know you were so good with plants, Hawke," Merrill remarked.

"I've lived on a farm for years. I never cared much for it, but I know enough to not let everything die." He glanced around. "I think I will get a few chickens. I liked our chickens."

Merrill smiled at the prospect before her expression became more somber. "Did you make a deal with a spirit?" she asked quietly.

 _Well, that's one way to change the subject_. Damian wrestled with a particularly stubborn weed which refused to release its hold on the ground. He could still only use his right hand because his left needed more time to heal. "For a couple of chickens? No."

"To learn blood magic."

"Not for that either," he told her. "Feynriel taught me."

"Oh." She plucked at a few leaves and crumbled them between her fingers. "You said it was evil, that you felt darkness when you used it. Why? It really is just magic, only more powerful."

"It's not." The weed suddenly came loose, almost making him fall backwards. "It consumes your soul. Ordinary magic doesn't do that."

She stared at him, momentarily stunned into silence. "What makes you say that? Blood magic doesn't consume your soul! Maybe that's what the shemlen Chantry says, but that doesn't mean it's true."

He tossed the defeated weed on a heap with the other plants. "Then how do you explain the power in our blood? It has to come from somewhere."

"Well, yes, it's fueled by our life force."

"Which means we destroy our soul in exchange for magic."

Merrill looked like this was an incomprehensible leap of logic for her. "No. What keeps us alive is not the same as our soul. By your definition elders who die no longer have a soul that can move on to the Beyond. That makes no sense. Blood magic doesn't destroy anything. At least not irrevocably. The energy blood magic uses can be replenished."

Damian clawed in the dirt to pull out a few roots which had broken off. Merrill's insistence to defend blood magic even after he had experienced himself how corrupting its use was annoyed him. "Life cannot be replenished," he insisted. "Injuries can be healed, but that's not the same. Life that has been destroyed is dead. It cannot be brought back."

"But nature does that all the time, Hawke!" She gestured around her, at the leaves of the trees which were starting to color yellow, orange and red to mark fall's arrival. "Trees shed their leaves before winter but when the snow melts they're restored to their former glory. Plants can be practically dead for a time, but eventually they revive themselves."

"I'm not a stupid tree, Merrill, and I'm not buying your analogy. Leaves might grow back, but if I cut off a tree's branches they won't grow back. Cut off enough and the tree will die."

"You're wrong." Now Merrill was annoyed too. "As long as you're careful blood magic does no harm. I've used it for years. Why do you insist on making it sound so bad when you've used it yourself? You haven't become an abomination and you didn't try to control Fenris' mind. What makes you think it has harmed your soul?"

Damian studied to dirt under his nails. He was more powerful than he had ever been and yet he was back to digging in the mud and hiding his abilities from the world. Despite the mess hounding him in Tevinter it had been liberating to display his magic openly and to know that for once it would not be the reason people judged him. Of course the magisters would not have let him stay, especially not in Danarius' old manor, but he still resented he had to go back to hiding what he was from everyone. To say he missed the Imperium would be exaggerating, but part of him longed for the one place where magic was seen as something to take pride in. Was this longing another sign of how blood magic had tainted him or was it just him?

"Because I can feel its stain on me. The first time I tried it, it was like... like I tore a piece off myself and shaped it into a spell. It bloody hurt and yet it felt so, _so_ good too." How could he wish for even one part of a place so corrupted? Why did the one place where magic was seen as a gift have to be so rotten? "The pain has gotten less, but the pleasant rush hasn't. It's twisted, messed up and plain _wrong_. I've always enjoyed being able to wield magic, but it has never been a need, something I keep thinking about and that keeps trying to lure me in. I shouldn't want to use it but I do. It's acid, burning in my veins to come out. Something about it was so reassuring. When I used it I felt like there was still hope. I could believe there was a chance to help Fenris. How could there not be, when I had all this power?" He knew why. How could it not be rotten? Fenris had been right. A land ruled by mages was doomed to eventually be ensnared by blood magic. Its pull was too strong. He had not started using it out of desire for power, but he would spend the rest of his life struggling to resist and not let it consume what was left of him.

After regarding Damian with a pensive look on her face, Merrill wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a black smear on the tattooed skin. "That's not what blood magic does," she said. "I think it's because you're using it for the wrong reasons."

That was sufficient to pull his scattered thoughts together. "Oh, I'm sorry," Damian replied mockingly. "I didn't realize blood magic was only acceptable when you want to fix a mirror with murderous tendencies."

"That's not what I meant!" More quietly, she elaborated: "I've seen your arm. Blood magic does not require doing something like that to yourself."

Pretending not to know what she was referring to was pointless. He had rolled up his sleeves to avoid getting dirt on them. The red marks lining his lower arm were clearly visible in the light of the afternoon sun. Damian considered covering them again but then dismissed the intent. Trying to hide them now would not help. "I've used them all to cast," he dodged the implication.

"But you didn't need so many marks. You could have used the same one. I saw you reopen the cut in your hand the day before we left the Silent Plains, but you didn't use it when Aveline and Donnic threatened you. You held back." She took a deep breath. "I think you're blaming blood magic for things that lie within yourself."

His left hand cramped despite his attempts to keep it still. He was not entirely certain how to interpret her words but none of the possibilities were enticing. Awkwardly he stood up. "I'm going to see how Varric and Fenris are doing." 

* * *

The last evening before Varric's and Merrill's departure was predictably tense. Everyone went to bed early, at least as much to escape the specters of the group members they had lost as to get a good night's rest before saying goodbye in the early morning. Damian lay awake for a long time, mulling over his conversations with Merrill and Aveline. He cursed them both for putting more doubts in his mind. It should not matter anymore. The things they wanted him to reconsider were of the past and could not be changed. His focus should be on Fenris. He had to find out whether some of Fenris' old memories were still hidden within, whether something had been spared by the lyrium poisoning. He had to know, had to be completely certain there was nothing left. But since Aveline had managed to plant the seed of doubt, Damian's thoughts kept moving from Fenris to Carver. He had never properly mourned his brother in Tevinter, and now he was unable to because the stupid, foolish, irrational hope he might still be alive kept gnawing at him. There was only one way to find out, but Damian still had not taken the required steps. Doubt seemed preferable to crushing certainty if it meant hearing how his little brother had been torn apart by darkspawn. He had still not made a decision when he finally fell asleep.

The following morning Varric and Merrill had already collected most of their belongings when Damian finally overcame his reluctance to find out the truth. "Varric, did you happen to bring ink and parchment with you? And a quill?"

The rogue immediately retrieved the requested items from his pockets. "Of course! I have a lot to write down."

Damian sat down at the table to scribble a short message. An apology for not having written sooner with a brief mention of his stay in the Tevinter Imperium. The expression of the hope Carver was doing well. Nothing about Fenris, magisters, the Chantry or blood magic. When he was finished he almost crumbled the message in his hand. Did he really need more confirmation of the death of his last family member? Had the encounter in the Fade not been enough, when his entire family had laid blame at his feet? He had seen Carver, just as he had seen Danarius, Father, Mother, Bethany and Gamlen. What need was there for more proof? He fought the intensifying urge to change his mind again and destroy the letter. Instead of throwing it in the hearth he folded he parchment and handed it to Varric. "Could you send this to the Grey Wardens? I'll reimburse you for the costs."

Varric smiled his friendliest smile. "Don't worry about it. I'll make sure little Hawke gets it."

_I doubt even you can deliver a letter to the dead._

They said their farewells not long after that, all of them knowing it would likely mean the permanent disbandment of their small group. The time of slaying dragons and demons together had ended. It was just Hawke and Fenris now.


	51. Chapter 51

Damian quickly fell into the rhythm of his new life. Most of the day he spent doing little chores. He was hesitant to ask Fenris for help because it never failed to feel like he was issuing orders, so he did most of the work himself and gave Fenris the lighter tasks when he was becoming restless from watching his "master" getting his hands dirty. Over the weeks they fixed the last defects that required fixing, tended their little garden and prepared for the winter season. Damian cast a circle of glyphs of paralysis around the house, hidden underneath the leaves on the forest ground to stop potential enemies from approaching. Occasionally he made the walk to the village to trade or purchase. By creating poultices from elfroot and other herbs he gathered in the area he earned the reputation of a healer, but he never used magic to cure ailments.

When all the work had been done for the day he devoted his attention to Fenris. The last visible effects of the lyrium poisoning and malnutrition disappeared; Fenris' skin mended and became smooth again, his thinning, matte hair regaining its volume and shine. Damian had cut it and because he made a poor barber it looked about as sloppy as it had during the years in Kirkwall. Fenris was no longer alarmingly underweight but remained thin and far removed from the athletic warrior he used to be. And improvements in appearance were the only progress he made.

Damian spent evening after evening trying to wrangle a memory from Fenris, prodding him for any knowledge indicating part of his mind had survived. He asked about the Tevinter Imperium, Seheron and Kirkwall. He brought up the topic of magisters, mages, Qunari, Fog Warriors and slaves. He mentioned Merrill and Anders, Aveline and Donnic, Varric and Isabela, Hadriana and Danarius, Elias, Varania and Leto. Some knowledge of the Imperium seemed to have stuck but most of Fenris' answers were confused and he could rarely provide actual anecdotes of his experiences. Eventually the rounds of questioning always ended the same: either Fenris retreated within his shell and refused to answer any further questions, distressed by his inability to please Hawke, or he lashed out in anger and called him a monster. This exhaustive and discouraging process kept repeating itself for over a month. Then Varric returned.

Confused by the unexpected visit Damian asked the rogue what had brought him back here after their initial greeting. As answer he was handed an envelope bearing the seal of the Grey Wardens. Damian's heart sank.

"You didn't have to deliver this yourself," he said while he opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. A letter of condolences. It had to be. A Warden-Commander would tell him they were sorry to inform him of the death of his brother. He would have died heroically, doing his duty. Something like that. Predictable. Meaningless. Damian stared at Varric to postpone having to read the message.

Varric pulled Bianca from his back, stroked her lovingly and positioned the crossbow against a chair before sitting down. "I know, but I wanted to see you anyway. I thought I might as well play messenger. Go ahead, read it."

 _I never thought I'd wish to escape from a letter._ He nodded to Varric and slowly turned his gaze to the parchment in his hand. The first two words seemed to jump off the page. _"Dear Damian"_.

"This... this is Carver's handwriting!" He stumbled, his legs growing weak with relief, and let himself drop down on the remaining chair next to the table. His eyes flew over the lines. Carver had written this. He was well, safe and sound. "He's alive." Damian threw his head back and laughed. "He's alive!"

Varric observed Hawke's display of joy with amused bewilderment. Fenris watched them both quietly from his place on the couch, near the hearth. He still grew cold easily. "Of course little Hawke is alive. Why would you want to write him if you thought he was dead?"

"I just... I thought the darkspawn had killed him." He reread the letter, a little more calmly this time. If Carver was alive it was not his spirit Damian had seen in the Fade. An illusion then? What about the rest of his family? He still did not believe they had been demons in disguise. Had Father, Mother and Bethany been real? His father's reaction to his presence, to his use of blood magic... It had been real. He just _knew_. The only question remaining was who had conjured up the presence of the others. Somehow he doubted it had been Danarius.

"Well, they didn't. He's actually in Weisshaupt, not that far from here." When Damian just nodded, speechless and ecstatic, Varric chuckled. "You look like you could use a drink." He rummaged through his luggage, then held up a dark brown bottle. "Whiskey?"

Damian grinned. "Not the rat-tasting swill from the Hanged Man, I hope?"

Varric scoffed and feigned insult. "As if I would drag a bottle of their piss around the Free Marches, Serah! No, this is the good stuff. Bring out the glasses!"

"I don't have glasses." Damian got up and walked to the area that served as the kitchen and returned with three mugs which were actually too large for the strong stuff Varric had brought. He poured a bit in them and offered one to Fenris, but the elf refused.

"No glasses? Hawke, are you telling me you're surviving out here without the occasional booze?!"

Damian emptied the third mug above his own, sat down and took a gulp. A welcome heat travelled down his throat and spread through his stomach. "I'm afraid so," he said. "It would be too tempting to be permanently stinking drunk otherwise." It had not really been a joke, but they both smiled nonetheless. "Thank you, Varric," he added. "You're a good friend."

"Yeah, well," Varric drank from his own whiskey. "You used to be one too."

Damian turned the mug around in his hands and watched the liquid move. "Used to be, huh?"

"Yep. This one is for old time's sake."

He nodded. "I understand. So why are you here, Varric? You said you wanted to see me."

"I have some news I thought you would want to know. Rivaini made it out of Tevinter. She's back to raiding."

"I'm not surprised. Isabela can wriggle herself out of any position. Literally and figuratively. I'm glad she survived."

"Yeah. No word from Blondie, though," Varric went on. "Apparently we left the biggest shit-storm in years behind in Tevinter. The rebellion lead to-"

"Have you heard from Aveline?"

Varric's brow furrowed. The talkative dwarf was not used to being interrupted. "You don't want to hear what happened in Tevinter?"

Damian briefly glanced in Fenris' direction before shaking his head. "I don't need to. It always ends the same."

"But..."

"I said no, Varric." An idea popped into his head. "On second thought, tell me one thing. Did magister Claudius die?"

"There are rumors one or two died in the fighting and I know one has been made Tranquil, but I'm not sure which."

Damian leaned back in his chair. "That explains why I haven't been hunted in the Fade. One of those must have been Claudius. That's reassuring."

"Great." Varric still looked irked he was not allowed to share all his information. Not letting the storyteller say whatever he wanted to say was the easiest way to annoy him. "I haven't heard much from Aveline, but apparently she's still with Donnic. They're trying to work it out, though it's not easy. Donnic was ready to throw in the towel." A pause followed in which they both downed more of their whiskey. "She didn't want to say why you're dead to her but it's clear something happened." Varric leaned over the table, tapping his fingertips together. "Care to share how you managed to piss off our Guard-Captain? I think you still owe me a story."

"Maybe I do." Damian looked at Fenris again. "But not now. If you want, I'll tell you tonight."

Varric's face betrayed his surprise that Hawke was actually showing willingness to talk about what had happened but knew better than to ask whether he was certain.

"What about you, Varric? What are you up to now?"

"Telling stories about you, as usual. This time for the Divine." At Damian's raised eyebrows he clarified: "The Divine is trying to set up a peace conference in Ferelden for mages and Templars. The Seeker who interrogated me in Kirkwall asked me to accompany her and repeat what I told her for a larger audience."

"You're working with the Chantry now?!" Damian made no effort to conceal his anger. "What if you led them here? I swear, Varric, I'll-"

"Easy on the tough act there, Hawke. I assure you I did not lead Seekers, Templars, or demons here. I promised the Seeker I would come with her after I took care of some business. Naturally she tried to have me followed, but I managed to shake them off. Don't you worry, when I let them find me it will be far away from here." A moment of hesitation, then: "Are you sure you don't want to come too? Your presence at the peace conference could sway the mages."

"And the Templars would demand my head. No thanks. One attempted public execution was enough. My time of trying to be a hero and a peacemaker is over. I was never very good at it. And even if I wanted to, Fenris isn't up for it."

"Shame." Varric raised his mug. "To the good old days, then." 

* * *

Varric joined them for dinner and for a while the conversation remained on neutral ground. Both Hawke and Varric made several attempts to encourage Fenris to offer his own contribution, but never with much success. When they had finished their meal, had done the dishes and Fenris had retreated to the single bedroom the hut counted, Varric and Damian sat back at the table with the bottle of whiskey. Damian knew he would need it if he wanted to tell everything he had done in Minrathous.

"If I tell you this," he began, "I need you to promise you will never breathe a word of it to anyone else. Not at the peace conference, not on your deathbed. Not to the Divine, your new best friend or even Bianca herself."

Varric wrinkled his nose in distaste. Stories he was not allowed to share were not very valuable to him. The rogue looked like he wanted to protest, but the cold look in Damian's eyes made him change his mind. His curiosity won it from his distaste for forbidden stories. "Fine, fine," he sighed, exasperated.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Damian nodded, more at his mug than at Varric. He brought it to his mouth and downed its contents in one go. Then he immediately reached for a refill. "Alright then."

The first part was easy. He told Varric about their arrival in Minrathous and their conversations with Claudius and Feynriel. He could even derive some enjoyment from recounting the duel against magister Gaius and the embarrassment of the magisters at his unexpected victory. Varric appeared entertained and accused Hawke several times of making things up. But when Damian began to describe the ongoing search for Danarius' documentation ofthe ritual and Fenris' worsening condition, Varric's smile faded. Damian told him how Fenris began to distrust him more and more, how he seemed to become obsessed with the issue of slavery in the Imperium and eventually murdered a slaver and attacked a magister during one of Claudius' parties. He left out the details of the night that followed this last event and continued with the reveal of the secret room. By the time he reached the point where he had put the collar on Fenris and locked him up Damian's head started to feel cloudy and his speech was slowing. But he soldiered on, his eyes now permanently on the whiskey in front of him rather than on the dwarf's face.

Varric listened silently for a long time, but when Damian told him of the deal he had made with Claudius in exchange for the description of the ritual, he spoke up. "Hold up," he interrupted. "You handed the secret of the ritual to the creepy magister? The ritual that gave Elf those markings? The one he kept ranting about and hurt so much it wiped his memory? _That_ ritual?"

"No, the one that makes him fart rainbows and see dancing unicorns," Damian slurred sarcastically. "Yes, Varric, _that_ ritual."

"Does... I mean, did Elf know this?"

"No. Maybe he guessed. I don't know." He waited for Varric to say something else but the dwarf remained silent, so he continued his tale. Despite the welcome fog of the alcohol he felt his cheeks burn while he described his turn to blood magic and the repeated ventures into the Fade. He remained vague about how deep he had truly sunk during that time and only mentioned the appearance of his dead family in passing. Considering the state Varric had seen Damian in upon his arrival in Minrathous the rogue could probably form a picture on his own. He was cunning enough for that. "And that's when you arrived, with Sandal," Damian concluded.

"Maker's breath, Hawke." More did Varric not manage.

Damian chuckled wryly. "At a loss for words, Varric? Never..." he tried to suppress a burp. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Yes, well, enjoy it while it lasts. Did you tell Aveline all this too? Is that why she's mad?"

"No... I... umm... I told her I would kill Donnic if he tried to keep Fenris from me."

This time Varric truly remained silent. Damian glimpsed up to see the dwarf take a swig from his mug. "That settles that, then."

More silence, the longest of all. Damian utilized it to empty another mug. He had lost count a while ago. After what seemed like an hour Varric opened his mouth again. "So... how is Fenris? He looks better."

"From the outside. I'm sure you noticed the rest hasn't changed. But I won't give up. I've been trying to get him to remember something. I question him every day. There has to be something... It can't all be gone."

Varric sighed and rubbed his face. "Hawke, maybe it's better if you let it go. You did what you could. I know you want to speak to Elf after everything that happened, but when the mind is gone it can't be brought back. Maker knows I wanted to get answers from Bartrand, but it was hopeless."

Damian let the whiskey in his mug swirl around. "Quentin cut off my m-mother's head and sewed it on the body of a different woman. He... removed her eyes and put those of someone else in instead." Thinking about it still made him feel sick. Or maybe it was just the drink this time. "And she was still there. Her mind was still there." He heard the drunken conviction in his own voice. "If Fenris is gone... I have to know for certain. I have to be absolutely certain he's no longer there."

"But he's been that way for months. How much more certain do you expect to become? Let it rest, Hawke."

"Hmph. You're one to talk. You never got over Bianca."

"Bianca? I have no idea what you're talking about." Varric patted the crossbow, which was still leaning against his chair. "Bianca's right here!"

"I meant the _real_ Bianca, you hairy little liar. I'm not stupid. There was a woman you named that thing after, and she wasn't made of wood. Sssooo I don't need your advice about moving on. What would that be, anyway? Sh-should I call my staff Fenris?" Damian snickered in his mug. "Oho, that would have annoyed him!"

Because he was not looking up he missed the pained expression on Varric's face. "Just... be careful, Hawke. Both for your sake and for Elf's. Don't push too far." 

* * *

They went to sleep not long afterwards. Varric would spend the night in the living room while Hawke went to his own bed in the room he shared with Fenris. Damian stumbled toward his empty bed, wrestling with his clothes to take them off. Of course he had had far too much to drink. Completely hammered he fell down on the straw mattress, his breeches still on his ankles. He kicked them off and fell asleep without even covering himself with the sheets.

Damian was roused in the middle of the night by the pressure of a full bladder. Groggily he pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed to find the chamber pot. His feet met resistance well before he expected to find the wooden floorboards, and more uneven at that. And obviously the floor should not let out a pained yelp when he tried to stand up. Damian tripped over the obstacle and landed against Fenris' bed, which was positioned against the wall opposite of his own. Fortunately he fell with his face on the mattress.

_Oh, fuck, no._

Still dazed from the alcohol and the unexpected fall he rolled around. As he had feared he saw Fenris sitting up across from him. "What..." Damian pinched the bridge of his nose to keep himself from shouting. "What are you doing there?!"

"Sleeping."

With a groan Damian hoisted himself to his feet. He could already feel a mighty hangover announce itself. "On the floor?! You have your own bed! Go back to that!"

"I wanted to be at your side, Master. I have to be there when you need me."

"No, no, no, no, no. This is wrong. This is so wrong." He wrestled with the inappropriate tendency to laugh hysterically. Whenever he thought he was starting to get used to the situation Fenris found a way to trip him up. Literally, this time. "What... what would I need you for in the middle of the night? I can take a piss on my own, Fenris."

Fenris was still sitting on the floor, looking properly remorseful. "Are you displeased with me, Master?"

 _Don't get mad. Don't get mad._ "Just..." He gestured behind him. "Just go back to your bed." 

* * *

If Varric had heard the commotion of that night, he made no comment of it. The dwarven rogue began his journey south the following day. Hawke did not ask whether telling the truth about everything he had done had cost him his last friend. Varric gave no clear hints either way, but it had never been easy to read the storyteller. Damian hoped he would keep his promise and never reveal what had become of the Champion of Kirkwall after fighting the invocation of the Right of Annulment. Retelling it once, on his own terms, was enough.

Not long after Varric's departure a merchant caravan visited the village. Hawke purchased most of the supplies he would need to make it through the winter, as well as parchment, ink and quills to write to Carver. When one of the merchants dug up the requested items she lifted three piles of books out of the way. Out of an old habit Damian peered at the bindings to see if he had read them. One of the titles he spotted was The Adventures of the Black Fox, the last book Fenris had practiced on before abruptly ending their reading lessons.

The excitement of a new idea made his heart beat faster. Maybe direct questioning was not the right way to test Fenris' memory. All his attempts to get explicit knowledge out of Fenris had yielded poor results. By now he had to admit that was not the area he would find something to draw hope from, but if he could find evidence that a skill had stuck with Fenris, a skill he had learned during the period his dementia had swallowed up... He had considered letting Fenris practice his swordsmanship to see whether his old warrior abilities remained, but giving him anything that resembled a weapon seemed like a bad idea. Damian had no desire to end up like Feynriel. But what if Fenris could still read?

He pointed at the books. "I'll take them all."

It took a lot of time to drag all his purchases back to the hut. The books formed a considerable weight Damian had not counted on when he had set off.

As usual Fenris was waiting for him. The elf hurried toward Damian to help with his baggage. Whenever possible Damian avoided bringing Fenris with him, out of fear what would happen if Fenris decided to address him as master in front of the villagers. At best they would find it odd and not care, ascribing it to Hawke's already established eccentricity. At worst they would become hostile or alert the authorities of a nearby city of illegal practices of slavery.

Damian thanked Fenris for the help and together they stored everything in its place. The impulse to immediately shove a book under Fenris' nose and ask him to read it was strong, but Damian contained his excitement. He should not be too hasty. Perhaps he could ensure Fenris was at ease with the request to read by first reading out loud to him.

Near the end of the day Damian sat down to write a letter to Carver. His previous message had been very short because he did not believe it would truly be read by his younger brother. He intended to make up for that now. He still could not divulge too much in case the letter would fall into the wrong hands. Or Carver decided to _give_ it to the wrong hands upon hearing his brother was a blood mage... So certain details remained off-limits, but nevertheless Damian was in a good mood while penning the letter.

 _Maybe I should try writing Gamlen as well_ , he thought while rereading what he had written. He sat back when his eyes went over the sentence with the words "Grey Wardens" in it, his forehead creasing. The merchant had only had red ink left for sale - an annoying, dramatic color to write in, but now it attracted his attention for a different reason. The way the color represented by the written word clashed with the color of the ink...

"Grey in red," he mumbled to himself. On a hunch Damian tore off a corner of the parchment and wrote "BLUE" on it in capital letters. "Fenris?"

Fenris immediately walked over to him, always ready for new instructions. Damian showed him what he had just written.

"What is the color of this word?" he asked the elf. "Of the ink, I mean."

Fenris gave him a confused stare before he obediently focused on the scrap of parchment. "B... red."

 _He hesitated!_ "Yes! Yes!" Damian jumped up and went to grab the first book within reach. His previous intent of being patient forgotten, he opened the book on a random page and tried to give it to Fenris. "Tell me what it says."

Startled by the command Fenris pushed the book away. "I'm... I'm sorry, Master. I can't read."

"That's alright. I just want you to try."

Fenris' eyes pleaded to retract the instructions but Damian insisted. The first sign of something right, something hopeful... he could not let that slip. If the reading lessons had been preserved he had to know. They could work from there...

"Master, please. I don't know how." Fenris looked around for a way to escape, but he was kept in place by his own obedience.

"I'm not trying to make fun of you. I won't get mad if you get it wrong. Just _try_." Again he held the book out, urging Fenris to take it.

"I can't. I can't! I CAN'T! Monster!" As had happened previously, Fenris' confusion and panic suddenly switched to aggression. He ripped the book out of Damian's hands and hit him on the head with it before Damian had time to react. The force was enough to knock him out.

When he woke up on the rough wooden floor of the hut he was alone. Fenris was gone.


	52. Chapter 52

Damian Hawke needed a while to recollect what had happened and why he was lying on the floor. A book lying open, cover up, a few feet away gave a good hint and soon it all came rushing back.

_Shit._

He pushed himself to his knees, one hand going to the sore spot on his head. He looked around but did not find a frightened Fenris who regretted hurting his master. There was nobody in the room. "Fenris?"

No answer. Damian got to his feet and rushed to the bedroom. It was as empty as the living area. He checked the tiny bathroom to be certain but already knew Fenris would not be there. Dread washed over him, causing another dizzy spell.

_Shit, shit, shit._

Ignoring the lightheadedness Damian ran outside. "Fenris!"

Not even the birds in the trees answered his call. He searched the immediate area of the hut, hoping Fenris was too afraid to speak up, but again found nothing. Dread was about to be crushed by panic but he pushed it back. How long had he been out? It was a cloudy day but judged by the light not much time had passed. It could not have been long... maybe only a few minutes. Apparently enough for Fenris to get away. Inwardly cursing his own idiocy Damian started running down the only path leading to and from the hut. All the way he kept calling out to Fenris, always getting nothing but silence in return. By the time he reached the village he was panting and struggling even more to maintain his calm. If Fenris had found refuse with some of the townsfolk...

Damian approached the first villager he saw, a lean, middle-aged woman with dark blond hair and a friendly, round face. "Have you seen a strange elf pass by here? White hair, markings," he gestured at his chin and neck, "on his neck and arms?"

She stared at him in confusion, unfamiliar with the common tongue. "Elf?"

"Yes, elf. Pointy ears." Again he used his hands to illustrate his meaning. "He's... confused. I need to find him. Please, have you seen him?"

Her face showed surprise. "No. No elf."

Without bothering to thank her Damian hurried on to the next person. The exchange he had had with the woman repeated itself numerous times, all with the same result. Most of the villagers were surprised to learn he was not living alone. That his company turned out to be an elf was even more reason for interest. Pairings between humans and elves were uncommon, especially in a human settlement such as this. Damian could see curiosity light up in their eyes. He had just become infinitely more interesting to them and it was obvious they were eager to learn more. He would be the preferred gossip topic for many days to come. Unwelcome attention, but right now Hawke could hardly be concerned about that. He had just asked the elder about Fenris but he too claimed to not have seen him. Damian already wanted to turn away when the old man spoke again.

"You with elf? Elf I seen when you came to village?"

"Yes, that's him." He had forgotten the elder had seen Fenris upon their arrival. "Are you sure you haven't seen him today?"

The elder ignored the question, seemingly having more pressing things on his mind than the disappearance of an elf. "Dorf too? With you?"

Distracted, Damian shook his head, not understanding what the man meant. "Dorf?"

The elder held his hand at chest level. "Little man."

"Oh, dwarf?" He had to mean Varric. That would make for an even more scandalous addition to the gossip. A reclusive human living together with an elf and a dwarf. Some pairing. And undoubtedly the start of many other perverse rumors. Days? This would keep them entertained throughout the entire winter. "No, he doesn't live with me. He was just a friend." Not that this would do anything to stop the villagers from talking now.

The elder did not give the impression he was completely reassured. "Just elf with you? Man elf?"

Damian grabbed the old man's vest, tempted to go for his throat instead and strangle him. "You can judge me in your own time. Curse me, condemn me, pity me and my doomed soul - I don't care. I just need to know where Fenris - the elf - has gone. Are you absolutely certain you haven't seen him? Has anyone else mentioned him to you? Just answer me, man!"

"Elf not here."

When Hawke released the hold on his clothes the elder stumbled backwards. Disgruntled he smoothened the fabric, but Damian did not wait for the accusing looks and curses which undoubtedly would be sent his way. He took several large steps away from the old man.

"Fuck!" He clawed with both his hands in his hair. The battle against panic had been lost; he was feeling sick from terror, on the verge of blacking out from it. He had messed up. Varric had been right, he had been pushing too hard and now Fenris was gone. Possible scenarios of how he would end up flipped through Damian's mind. Killed by wildlife or bandits, captured by slavers, lost and starving... All because he could not accept the effects of the lyrium poisoning were permanent, because he had been unable to accept the way things were. And Fenris would be the one to suffer because of it. All his failures and he just had to add this one on top of it.

His heart pounded in his chest, pushing forth the call in his blood. He longed to take his knife and sink it into his flesh to release his magic. He needed it, needed power to not be crushed by his own fear. Damian's hand was already going to his belt when he stopped himself. The lure was tricking him. All the power in Thedas would not allow him to conjure Fenris back to his side. It would accomplish nothing to cut himself, except the rush would dull the jagged edges of his panic. If he had had some of Fenris' blood he might have been able to track him, like Gascard Dupuis had used Alessa's to find Quentin's lair... but he did not. He would have to find Fenris the ordinary, non-magical way. The elf could not have gotten far. He could still be alive.

Damian frantically looked around, against better judgment hoping to spot someone he had not asked about Fenris yet. It was beginning to get dark. The townspeople were leaving the day's work to retreat into their houses for some warmth and a deserved meal. No one had seen Fenris. Either one of them was lying or Fenris had never gone to the village. Why? There was only one path to leave their home. Damian wondered whether he should go back and search for signs Fenris had tried to leave the track and make his way through the forest. It seemed unlikely. If Fenris had simply tried to get away from what had upset him was it not more logical to assume he had taken the way of the least resistance? But then why had he avoided the village? Upon exiting the forest it was impossible to miss. The village lay a little to the east, a walk of maybe five more minutes away, while to the west there was only...

"The river," he breathed and immediately sprinted away, leaving baffled villagers behind. If Fenris had followed the track and had turned left to avoid other people he would have ended up at the Minanter River. Damian ran as fast as he could, competing with the sun as who would complete their journey west first. He was not even sure why he rushed as fast and desperately as he did, as if Fenris would not be stuck on the shore, forced to a halt by the barrier of water.

He heard the sound of rushing water before he saw the river in the twilight. The sun had reached the horizon before Hawke had arrived at the river and painted the clouds red as goodbye. Damian paid no attention to the colorful sunset. Gasping for air after his wild dash he pressed a hand to his side. He screamed Fenris' name with the first breath that was not crucial to provide air to his burning insides. "FENRIS!!! Are you here? Fenris!"

He forced himself to start walking again. His hands - he had forgotten to bring his staff - lit up with a blue glow to aid him in his search. While he followed the stream's direction he kept shouting for Fenris to answer him. The risk of a lone fisherman seeing him did not even occur to Damian.

He got close to giving up again, the fear he was searching in the wrong place ever beating down on him. What could he do when night fell? The more time passed, the less likely it became he would find Fenris alive. Or at all.

_I was supposed to keep him safe._

Another sequence of self-blaming was cut off when his magical light illuminated a group of rocks in the water. A thin figure was clinging to one of them in the middle of the river. "Fenris!"

Fenris was lying over the rock, his head resting on the stone while he hung in the river from the waist down. Water surged against and around his back. He was conscious - his eyes met Hawke's - and appeared uninjured. Damian guessed he had tried to cross the river by stepping from rock to rock but had slipped and was unable to do more than stop himself from being dragged away by the current. He very much doubted Fenris could swim.

"It's alright, Fenris," he shouted. "Just hold on! I'm coming."

Easier said than done. This part of the Minanter River was not very wide, but Fenris was still out of his reach. Damian could swim - Lothering had bordered on a shallow stream which ended in a small lake near Lake Calenhad - but not good enough to brave the current he could already feel pulling at his boots after two steps into the water, especially if he had to bring Fenris back to solid ground that way. He had to come up with a different solution. He could try to freeze part of the river but while Fenris was suspended in the water that was too risky. Even if Damian could avoid freezing Fenris himself the ice might crush him with the force of new water beating against it.

_Force._

He could use force magic to temporarily hold back the current and clear a path. Without a staff to aid in focusing the spell it would take tremendous willpower to keep up. At least the water level was quite low. In spring, when the snow in the Hunterhorn Mountains melted and sought a way down, the plan would have had no chance of success. Now... now it was not completely impossible. About as tough as fighting three Arishoks at once. Damian groaned at his own cursed comparison. _Way to inspire confidence._

He had to try. He could always attempt to cross the rocks himself if it failed. Hawke turned ninety degrees so he was facing the direction the water was flowing from and turned his attention inward, to his mana. Fenris' life depended on this. Who knew how long he had already been in the cold water?

The spell burst from his hands and collided with the river. Damian was almost knocked off his feet by the clash of his magic and the natural forces of flowing water. He had underestimated how much the river would protest against being interrupted like this, how quickly the mass of water built up and pounded on the invisible barrier he created using opposing force.

Damian's concentration reached its breaking point within a few seconds; the spell shattered and the river appeared to roar triumphantly now it could continue its way. It crashed over Fenris in a large wave, soaking him to the bone. Fortunately the elf still managed to hold on to his rock.

"I'm sorry, Fenris!" Damian sucked in a sharp breath. Should he try again? It suddenly seemed a lot more risky than he had thought. He could not waste his magic on more failed attempts. There were no lyrium potions at the ready here to replenish his mana when he ran out and they would not have enough time to wait for him to regenerate it on his own. Blood magic would increase his reserves but its use would likely scare Fenris and could jeopardize any rescue attempt.

Through the descending darkness he made eye contact with Fenris again. They had survived Kirkwall, Minrathous and the Silent Plains, damn it. Damian would get Fenris out of this stupid river too.

For the first in a long, long time Damian employed the meditation techniques his father had taught him. He closed his eyes to shut out the distracting sight of Fenris in need, blocked out the sounds of the river flowing around him, ignored the sensation of the current pushing against his shins. It was more difficult to silence his restless mind, push away the guilt and the fear, the lingering sense of panic, and the corrupting lure in his blood. He banished everything until he was alone with his magic, with the spell he needed.

If he had cut himself earlier, if he had had a wound somewhere, no matter how small, this method would likely have only brought him to blood magic. But now he successfully dove past that. Though he was unable to escape the dark, mysterious pull completely it was enough to reach what he needed. For a while Damian held still, ensuring the hold on his magic was firm and would not slacken. Then he opened his eyes, stretched out his hands again and let the spell burst from his palms.

Once more the river had to bend to his will. Water beat against his force magic and was forced to a halt. The ground where he stood ran dry as the rest of the river flowed on. Out of the corner of his eye Damian looked at Fenris. The elf was no longer hanging in the water either - Damian's spell was wide enough. "Fenris..." speaking was difficult, all his energy being sucked up by maintaining his magical creation. "Get over... here. Can't... keep this up for long."

Slowly Fenris let go of the rock that had saved his life and slid down to the pebbled ground which formed the bottom of the river. He tried to walk towards Hawke but his hypothermic muscles refused to obey his body's commands. After a few steps he slumped to his knees.

 _Curses!_ The water level behind his barrier was rising quickly. If Damian stopped the spell now they would likely be crushed just as efficiently as a chunk of ice would have achieved. Already he felt his mana draining. Soon he would be running on empty.

He would have to keep it up no matter what. There was no opportunity for doubt. Carefully, making sure his concentration would not falter, Damian began to inch sideways to get closer to Fenris.

"Pull yourself up... to me," he instructed with a strained voice. "Then... hold on."

He felt hands grab his breeches and Fenris drag himself up with the support this granted him. When an arm settled over his shoulder Damian started to shuffle back the way he had come. Halfway through his knees buckled, but he remained upright. He had to, had to, had to. He could no longer feel his fingers, his hands, his arms. He was feeding everything he had to the spell. If there was one thing he had learned in Tevinter it was to push himself beyond every constraint, ignore every boundary.

Only a few more feet to go. It could not be much farther. His vision blackened. His body was shutting down. He could only hope Fenris was still holding on to him because he could no longer feel anything.

His feet hit a ridge and he fell to the side. The spell was disrupted, the river thundered past to reclaim its territory. Damian gulped in fresh air - had he stopped breathing? - and slowly regained his senses. He became aware of water splattering on his face, of mud and grass under his back. Fenris' face appeared in his field of vision. They had made it!

"Master, are you alright?" the question was asked through clattering teeth.

"C-c-couldn't be better. You?"

"I'm... I'm fine."

Damian sat up, took off his woolen vest and tunic and wrapped the relatively dry clothes around Fenris' soaked ones. "It's alright," he whispered. "I won't let anything like this happen again. I've learned my lesson. No more pushing, no more tests. Just us."


	53. Chapter 53

The following months they fell back into their old daily rhythm. Damian adjusted the glyphs of paralysis around the hut so they would work on anyone who touched them, friend or foe. Should anything similar happen again, Fenris would no longer be able to get away. For a while he considered taking some of Fenris' blood as additional precaution but Damian found himself unable to hurt him in such a way. He could not cut the man he loved and make him bleed.

Making a similar decision for himself was less easy. Despite the successful use of his natural magical abilities to get Fenris out of the Minanter River, he kept feeling the pull of blood magic. Often, after a rough day and when he struggled with the unaddressed issue of that brief moment in which Fenris had shown a sign of preserved reading skill, Damian sat with his old knife in hand, the sharp edge pressed against his left arm. A little more pressure and the skin would split, blood would well up and trickle down. He came close, always came close, but the sight of the red marks - slowly becoming lighter and fading into scars - on his arm and hand always stopped him. They formed a reminder, a warning of the time his mind had shattered into pieces of madness and he had sunk to a level of pitiable existence he never wished to revisit. He would be lost if he did. Fenris deserved better than that. So Damian resisted, and hoped that in time it would become easier.

He stayed true to his word and no longer searched for hints that Fenris remembered something. Instead of using the purchased books for reading lessons, Damian read them to the elf. They spent most winter evenings in front of the hearth, a book in Hawke's hands. He let Fenris look at the pages if the elf showed interest but never actively tried to encourage him to do so. Damian read everything he had bought: children's stories, history, old legends, recipes from a cook book, the Chant of Light and even a few books in the Nevarran language he could make no sense of at all and undoubtedly butchered with his Fereldan accent. Sometimes he believed he saw Fenris mouth the words with him, face set in concentration, but Damian never remarked on it. Afterwards he would sit with his knife and wonder whether there was some kind of magic which could repair the damage to Fenris' mind. The demons whispering to him in his dreams said as much, but even if blood magic's mind control could bring Fenris close to his old state, Damian did not know how to achieve this and feared he would end up doing more harm than good. Blood and wounds could not heal. They were healed. Damian forced himself to leave the scars alone.

He always did his best to be patient with Fenris, carefully watching for signs he was upsetting the elf and backing down if he did. Fenris' random ideas about his master's wishes and how he was meant to serve were gently countered, the message he was not a slave and Damian not his owner endlessly repeated. It was draining, even if Fenris responded well.

And one day it was Damian Hawke who snapped.

It was four months after Fenris had run away, a reading night like any other. They were sitting close to the hearth because it was cold everywhere else, Damian on the couch and Fenris on a pillow on the floor. Hawke had reached the end of the final chapter of the book they were currently reading - a collection of folk tales. Most were disturbing, such as 'Cautionary Tales for the Adventurous', but the last short story was more lighthearted. Risks were taken, evil threatened to triumph, but the hero ultimately managed to overcome every obstacle, struck the enemy down and saved the one he loved.

"-and they lived happily ever after." Damian did not close the book after having read the final sentence. Instead he stared ahead without seeing, feeling numb and hollow, too worn down to actually feel sadness. For a long time he had hoped for a content life with Fenris, their own happy ending. Sometimes he believed he had accepted it, that he could spent the rest of his life this way, but the stark contrast between reality and fantasy was difficult to ignore. This was not what he had imagined when he had done everything to save Fenris from dying.

A tickling sensation pulled Damian out of his lethargy. He blinked a few times, surprised by the unexpected caress. Fenris had snuck a hand under the leg of Hawke's trousers and stroked his calf with light, subtle fingers. It sent goose bumps over Damian's flesh. And something else, something worse.

A few heartbeats long he sat frozen, drawn into a memory of a similar situation. Then Damian leaned forward, grabbed Fenris' arm and jerked it away from his leg. Because Fenris had been looking down he did not see Damian's reaction until it was too late. "Don't _ever_ touch me," he hissed. "I don't want you. Don't you dare try this again."

Fenris flinched in Damian's forceful grip. He tried to wrestle free but Hawke did not let go, his fingers digging into Fenris' arm.

"Do you hear me, Fenris? Do you understand?" He knew he was holding on too tightly, that he was hurting the elf. The lock on his magic cracked, ice dancing on his hands. He could feel the skin under his fingertips cool.

"Y... yes."

Immediately Damian relaxed his hand. Frightened by his own outburst he stood up, threw the book which had still been in his lap into the hearth and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and put his face in his hands.

This should not have happened. His reaction had been far too vehement, far too forceful. Especially since Fenris was not the reason for his anger. It had been his own weakness that was cause for frustration. The similarity with the blond slave whose name he could no longer even remember was too strong to ignore. The fingers on his leg, slowly travelling up, then joined by mouth and tongue... He had been so close to giving in then and now he had felt it again, the want, a spark of arousal. It had been brief, fleeting, squashed by revulsion, but it had been there and that frightened him. Was this what he had to look forward to the rest of his existence? A struggle against his own perverted desires? How would he endure?

He heard the door slowly being opened. Damian did not look up. "Go away, Fenris. Just let me be."

He did not want to hear Fenris beg for forgiveness. He could not bear it right now.

"Hawke?"

Damian stiffened. Of course. His outburst must have triggered a switch in Fenris as well. He prepared himself for the curses, for being called a monster. Deserved, but no less painful. Fenris calling him by his last name first was uncommon, but today he had had a relatively good day - up until the moment he had employed a seduction technique - and not reverted back to the title of "master" as quickly as usual. Damian remained silent and waited for the inevitable.

"Damian?"

 _That_ could not have stuck. Damian held still, trying to process what he had just heard and what it meant. Then his head snapped up so fast it hurt his neck. "F... Fenris?"

Fenris closed the door and took two hesitant steps into the small bedroom. "Where are we? This... isn't Tevinter, is it? I don't remember how..." he trailed off, apparently lost in the holes in his memory, and looked at Hawke expectantly, waiting for clarification.

Damian swallowed. His mind refused to accept what he was hearing and kept repeating it was impossible. Fenris was gone. He had been for months. And yet... the use of his first name, the caution in Fenris' posture, the sound of his voice... it was all familiar, all as he remembered. It was Fenris.

"We're... we're in Nevarra," Damian croaked eventually. "Not far from a village I don't even know the name of. We left Minrathous more than six months ago."

Fenris came closer. It was obvious he was just as confused as Damian. "The magisters simply allowed us to leave?"

"Hardly." Damian laughed nervously. "You saved me from being executed and we had to run for our lives to get out of the city. We had a mage and slave rebellion as cover, which was very helpful."

Fenris sat down next to him, his face perfectly matching the word 'perplexed'. "Why do I have no recollection of this? I remember dreams... you... putting a collar on me and locking me up... but I don't recall getting out again... or waking up." He stared at Damian, horrible realization dawning on him. "That... that was a dream, was it not?"

"I wish I could say yes to that," Damian replied softly. "But that really happened." He wanted to make Fenris understand, give his reasons, explain himself. His tongue tripped over the words. "It... it was the hardest thing I have ever done. You were so sick, Fenris. I watched you unravel and destroy our chances of finding a cure. I-I couldn't let that happen. You were dying and giving the magisters an excuse to make your end come even sooner. I did the only thing I could to protect you from yourself and the things the demons encouraged you to do."

"So you took away my freedom."

Damian wanted to say more, but he held it back. He could not begin to describe the look on Fenris' face. All he knew was it temporarily tied his tongue. "Yes."

"To appease the magisters." Fenris' voice sounded flat, as if he could not fully comprehend how gravely his trust had been betrayed.

"For you! I gave everything for you! I went through the Void and back for you, Fenris. Literally. I even sought out Danarius to find a way to fix the markings."

He saw Fenris' eyes widen. Through everything, the dementia, the confusion and a coma lasting months, the fear for his former master was still there, unaltered and ready to jump him at the suggestion the magister could still be alive. "Danarius? But isn't he..."

"Dead. Yes," Damian reassured him.

"Then how...?"

 _Oh, here we go._ Damian's mouth went dry. "You don't remember?"

When Fenris shook his head Damian inhaled deeply. "To find Danarius I had to travel into the Fade and use a spell to pull his spirit from... wherever it was hanging around. And for that..." Another deep breath, then he pulled back his left sleeve to reveal his arm. "I had to use blood magic."

Fenris made a hissing sound of disgust upon seeing the mess of scars. For a while he just sat there, leaning over Hawke's arm and staring at the undeniable proof of what the mage had become.

"You were right, Fenris," Damian whispered. "You've been right all along. Every mage has a price. You... you were mine."

Fenris did not echo the accusation that kept haunting him. "You realize that you've damned yourself with this?" He sounded like he was in pain.

Damian chuckled mirthlessly. "In your eyes or those of the Maker? Either way I'm aware of it. Though I doubt the Maker would have wanted me near Him anyway. Turning to blood magic is probably the least condemnable thing I have done. At least I only brought harm to myself doing that."

"Has it... changed you?"

How could he deny this? Fenris had seen the truth long before Damian had abandoned his more optimistic beliefs about magic. If Fenris had been right about this, then why would he not have been right about Damian and what he had turned into as well? Even now he felt the darkness tug inside him, the call of blood magic in his veins.

_"Monster."_

"Yes." It was more a squeak than a spoken word.

Fenris shut his eyes. Perhaps it was due to the limited lighting in the room, but new shadows, deeper lines, appeared to claim his face. "How can you call blood magic your least condemnable act?" he eventually asked. "You cannot believe yourself above its corrupting influence."

"I don't. But I didn't need blood magic to... to lock you up. Or to hand the information we found to Claudius in exchange for his promise to use it to help you." When Fenris did not say anything in return, he added: "I destroyed the documents before we left. Feynriel is dead and Claudius likely is too, so with any luck the ritual is still a secret in Tevinter. And... and if it's any consolation, the product of that had his hand around my heart not much later, and he was a lot less gentle about it than you. "

"It's not," Fenris sighed. "So you're saying blood magic and... Danarius saved me?"

"No." He shook his head. "Sandal did. Varric, Merrill, Aveline and Donnic found him and brought him to Minrathous. I don't know what he did but it seems to have deactivated your markings."

Fenris' voice broke when he next spoke. "So... it was all for nothing? Going to the Imperium, everything that happened... while we simply could have gone to Orlais?"

"No, no, don't say that," he groaned, shaking his head more vehemently. "It can't all have been for nothing. We had to... I had to... It was our best chance. The Chantry is hunting me. What if we had gotten arrested while searching for Sandal? Varric got captured and interrogated when passing through Kirkwall. Knowing what I know now, I would still do the same. There's no way to tell what could have gone wrong if we had chosen differently. At least... at least now you're still alive."

"But what about Danarius? You said you searched for him in the Fade."

"I did." Damian hunched his shoulders and looked away. "He had no clue what was going on with the markings either. Not that he openly admitted it, but he let it slip." He drew a shaky breath, already knowing he should shut his mouth, that he would regret saying this, but he could not stay quiet about it, could not keep it in like Fenris had all this time. "You loved him, didn't you? Back then, when you didn't know any better. I-I know it's not the same as... as what we had, but till then I never realized... I never understood..."

"Vishante kaffas, Hawke!" Fenris leapt to his feet and strode to the end of the room, back turned to him.

The reaction should be warning enough but still Damian did not hold his tongue. He had to speak, just as Fenris had had to ask about Danarius. The specter of the magister haunted them both, though in different ways. "He loved you too, you know. In a horrible, twisted and messed up way, but he did. Even in death he wanted you back by his side."

Fenris spun around to face Damian. "Why are you telling me this? Am I supposed to buy whatever lies he told you? You know not what you speak of! Danarius was incapable of any form of affection." Anger and fear roughened his voice. "Blood magic, execution, rebellion... Why can't I remember any of this? What foul magic has done this to me?"

Damian, still seated on the edge of the bed, stared at Fenris with wide eyes. He knew he should lie about this, keep the truth with him so it would not destroy the elf with its weight. After everything he had fought for to get away from Danarius, only to have the markings destroy what he had gained over the years... Damian had to lie, had to come up with an excuse. That there were no gaps in his memory, he had only recently awoken from his slumber, Sandal had just left... But he could not. He could not look Fenris in the eye and lie about the past months.

"Not magic," he mumbled, almost hoping Fenris would not be able to hear him. "It's... it's lyrium poisoning. Your markings weren't just becoming unstable - they were falling apart and releasing lyrium into your body. It can cause amnesia, but also dementia. I'm... I'm sorry, Fenris, but you're suffering from severe dementia. You woke up six months ago and you've... you've been convinced you're a slave ever since and didn't remember anything about your escape. Or us. I've lost count of how many times I've tried to make you understand I'm not your master but you always forget soon after. This is the first lucid moment you've had in all this time."

He watched all the blood drain from Fenris' face until he looked ashen, as if he had drowned in the Minanter River after all. Never had Damian seen him so helpless, so crushed. It broke his heart and he immediately wished he had come up with a lie instead.

"You lie." Not an accusation, but a plea.

A quick nod. "Yes."

Fenris' shoulders slumped, his attempt to deny the truth failed. "You're not." Another, desperate silence, filled with pain absent of a name. Then the inevitable explosion, a last cry to smother the suffering. "Venhedis, Hawke! All you've done, and for what? So I can be your slave for the rest of my days?!"

"So you can live!"

"You should have let me die!"

That hurt too much to deflect. It struck right in the fear which had been festering for so long, ever since he had held his mother's mutilated corpse in his arms. "Don't you dare act like that was ever an option!"

"You sit there and tell me my mind is lost, but what of your own mind, Hawke? You bound me. You _chained_ me and locked me up. You claim to have acted only in my best interest, but do not pretend this wasn't for yourself!" Fenris spat. "I never asked you to save me. I never asked you to turn to blood magic!"

"Alright, fine!" Damian screamed back. "I did it for myself. Because the very thought of losing you terrified me so much I couldn't... If you think I was going to bury you and stand over your grave with flowers in hand, you're out of your mind. I wasn't going to go through that again! I wasn't going to end up with just a pile of corpses to love."

Fenris' face turned milder, if only slightly. "You would have found someone else, Hawke," he said less loudly.

"No, I wouldn't." Damian tried to laugh to show how much this suggestion deserved to be mocked, but the noise he produced sounded more like sobbing.

"What would you have done if everything had failed then? What would you have done if Varric had not found Sandal?"

"I-I don't know." During moments like these, when he was forced to think back on the time he had lost all control, he could feel madness' fingers caress the back of his neck. A gentle threat, a reminder how close he had been and still was. One step back and he would end up in its embrace. Permanently. Remembering that period after he had discovered the lyrium poisoning made Damian feel cold all over. He had been reduced to something less than human, an irrational, repulsive state he could not comprehend. The endless cycle of cutting and casting, only interrupted by the most basic daily functions of eating and sleeping, had been a waking nightmare. The time between his confrontation with Danarius and the arrival of his old friends was even more difficult to recall. That state of pure helplessness, of having absolutely nothing left to live for... He did not want to stop and consider what he might have been capable of then, stripped of all hope and dignity.

"That is no answer."

Damian hung his head, his hair falling to the sides of his face as if to shield him from Fenris' questions. "Please. I... I don't want to think about that. Your imagination has never been lacking when it came to picturing what lost mages are capable of. I'm sure you'll have no trouble coming up with some suggestions yourself."

Silence fell while Fenris let the meaning of Damian's words sink in. When he spoke again his anger seemed to have escaped him. Only sorrow for both their fates remained. "You would have...?"

"I don't know." Damian turned his face away to hide even more from Fenris' gaze. "Maybe."

He listened to Fenris' breathing until suddenly one single, lonely word escaped along with one of the elf's breaths. " _Why?_ "

The answer was so obvious, so inescapable, it did not need consideration. "Nothing can be worse than the thought of living without you."

Fenris flinched upon being confronted with his own words, spoken when he had pledged his love in what seemed like an age ago. Then he returned to the bed and sat back down next to Damian. "How do I know you're not just keeping me this way so I cannot leave?" he asked eventually. "How can I believe anything you say?"

Damian squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before answering in a small voice: "Do you really think so low of me? If I purposefully kept you in a state of dementia, why would I bother talking with you now? I won't waste this moment we've been given by lying to you. I swear I would have let you go if the markings hadn't damaged your mind. It... would have killed me, but I would have let you go." He did not turn his head to look at Fenris. Could not look at him. Instead he talked to his knees. "I will always take care of you, Fenris. I promise. I will never treat you as my slave or-or take advantage of you. I will spend the rest of my life making up to you what I did."

"What if I don't _want_ you caring for me, Hawke? What if I wish to leave?"

"You can't. I'm sorry, but I won't allow you to go."

Fenris bristled next to him. "You just said-"

Damian mercilessly interrupted him. "I said I would have let you leave if your mind had been undamaged. You can't take care of yourself, Fenris."

"I feel fine!"

"Tell me how we got here and then try saying that again," Damian bit back, his own voice rising to the volume of Fenris'. "I'm not exaggerating. Like it or not, you can't be left on your own." After several deep breaths he felt more calm again. "You got away once," he told Fenris softly. "A few months ago. You hit me with a book and knocked me out. When I woke up you were gone. Eventually I found you again. There's a river not far from here and you had tried to cross it. Not by bridge, but by jumping from rock to rock. You had fallen in the water. If I had come later or not at all, you would have drowned. Can you even swim?"

Fenris needed some time to let that sink in. "But what is this then?" he asked. He sounded lost, small even. "Why do I suddenly remember if my mind is truly gone?"

"I don't know," Damian admitted. "For months you've shown no progress at all. Maybe this is just one brief lucid period... I've heard that older people whose mind has frayed into dementia sometimes experience this. A moment of clarity, in which they revert back to their old selves. Or..."

"Or?"

He glanced at Fenris before quickly casting his eyes down again. "I-I don't want to give you - or myself - false hope, b... but maybe your mind is recovering from the lyrium poisoning after all. Its effects on your body weren't permanent, and maybe it just takes longer for the dementia to disappear. It seems that you can still read, even if you don't appear to realize it. You panicked when I asked you to try and I've left it alone since then. But maybe this is a sign you're finally recovering."

"Is there truly no way to heal it?"

Damian bowed his head. "No. I'm sorry. I tried to heal the lyrium poisoning when I first noticed it, but my magic couldn't find anything to mend. B-blood magic might, but I... I don't know how and I fear I will only make things worse. The mind is a fragile, delicate thing and cannot easily be messed with." He glanced to the side, to see Fenris staring ahead rather than at him. "I'm truly sorry, Fenris," he said. "I'm sorry that everything wasn't enough to save you, to save all of you. I'm sorry I made you believe I was strong while I'm not. I wanted to be, I tried to be for so long. For Mother and Father, Carver and Bethany. For you. For myself. But I'm..." His lips continued to move without producing a sound before he discovered his voice again. "I'm no better than any other mage. If I had been born in Tevinter I probably would have been just like the magisters. And I'm sorry I tricked us both into believing the opposite. I'm sorry I betrayed your trust. I'm sorry I couldn't lose you."

"That's not much of an apology, Hawke."

His attempt at a careful smile turned into a grimace. "I thought it was pretty impressive myself." He sighed. "I know what you want to hear, but this is all I can offer. Apologizing for anything else would be unfair, because if I could go back, I would do it again. I would do anything to keep you alive. And I... I can't apologize for that. I said I wouldn't waste our time with lies. So I won't."

Fenris did not reply to that, but Damian believed he saw him give a small nod. Whether it was out of understanding or simply to indicate he had heard, he did not know.

It was all out now. All laid bare. Only one thing remained. A shudder went through Damian before he mustered the courage to ask. "Do you think... if things had turned out differently, if I could have saved all of you, if you had been well again... would you ever have forgiven me?"

Silence followed his question. It stretched out for so long that Damian started to believe it was supposed to be his answer when Fenris finally replied.

"I don't know," he admitted eventually. "To be honest I don't think I would have given it a chance."

Damian swallowed and nodded, tears in his eyes but not crossing the threshold of his lashes. Fenris would have left him, turned his back on him and the ruins of their relationship, unable or unwilling to rebuild. Of course Damian had known. He had realized taking Fenris' freedom away would be the death sentence for his trust and love and he had been prepared to make that sacrifice. Yet hearing it confirmed now hurt to the depths of his torn soul. He had known, but not _known_ , not with absolute certainty. As long as Fenris could not irrevocably end their relationship, he could live with the misguided hope they would have worked it out. Now that fantasy was taken from him, ripped from grasp.

He could not stop the next question from falling from his lips. "Fenris... do you hate me?"

Another silence, even longer than the previous one. Damian did not dare to look up. He had asked the same question once before, ironically right after they had ended up in bed together for the first time. Till that point Damian had never been completely certain whether Fenris would overcome his distrust for mages enough to give in.

A jolt went through him when he was struck on the chest, leaving him breathless. Startled he looked at his sternum, where the pressure remained, and then to the side. Fenris had hit him with his left hand, held it pressed flat against Hawke's chest.

"I should tear out your heart for everything you've done," the elf growled through gritted teeth, his voice heavy with emotion.

Damian tensed but remained still, not even daring to breathe. Reminding Fenris his markings were no longer functioning and that this would complicate such aspirations seemed... overly helpful.

"But I can't." Now it was Fenris who looked away.

 _Because your markings don't work._ He was still working out a strategy for when Fenris would opt to strangle him instead when the hand withdrew.

"Even after all this I can't find it in me to hate you."

Damian stared at him, heart battering against his ribcage as if to taunt to get torn out after all. He had been so convinced to hear an unforgiving "yes" as answer that Fenris' response completely caught him off guard. It was hardly a profession of love, but given the circumstances, everything that had happened, everything he had done, it made an invisible weight fall off his shoulders.

 _He doesn't hate me._ It was the only thought remaining in his head, floating lightly with relief. In a sudden burst of recklessness - and yet it seemed the best, the one possible course of action - he leaned to the side and pressed his lips to Fenris'.

The kiss surprised them both. For four fluttering heartbeats their mouths remained locked, then Damian pulled free, some startled sense returning to him. Fenris' lips had been stiff and unyielding but parted slightly upon being relieved from contact. Damian breathed shallowly through his mouth, almost panting, fearing he had overstepped and quietly waiting for Fenris' reaction. He watched the elf's mouth, the full lips carrying the memory of softness and warmth, and knew Fenris was doing the same. As they sat there, faces close, breathing each other's breaths, the tension between them rose. Damian tried to swallow and say something, to apologize for his impulse. His eyes darted up to finally meet Fenris'. As soon as they did, the stunned tension holding both of them still broke.

Fenris closed the minimal distance in an instant and let their lips touch again, this time more willing, eager even. Damian sighed against the elf's mouth as he felt the invitation of a tongue, warm and moist, slip past. The kiss deepened but never became forceful. They both moved with attention and care, a desperate, gaping pain smothered by being deliberate and gentle. Damian snaked an arm around Fenris' middle and soon the elf ended up straddling his lap. When Damian moved his hand under Fenris' shirt to feel the bare skin of his back, Fenris immediately tugged at Hawke's tunic to make it clear it should be taken off. A little clumsily because they were sitting so close to each other and neither was willing to part more than strictly necessary, they stripped of their clothing until they were both in their breeches.

Damian tried to suppress the sense of embarrassment fluttering in his stomach upon being so exposed. His - slightly neglected - beard could hide the softening of his chin and jaw line, but undressed there was no way to hide his form could no longer qualify as 'lean', or at least not as lean as he had been a few years ago.

Fenris did not seem to care. Without a trace of reluctance he pressed himself against Hawke, entwined his fingers in the mage's hair and picked up where they had left off with the kiss. The lyrium markings remained lifeless and did not light up in response to the contact.

A purposeful roll of Fenris' hips sufficed to quell the first and last of doubts about superficial appearances. The stimulation, combined with the feeling of Fenris' warm skin against his chest, sent sparks of pleasure through Damian's spine and had him respond with a movement of his own. His breathing deepened with his desire.

He wanted to say something but did not know what. That he knew this was not forgiveness. Too much had happened and there was too little time to restore what had been lost. Yet it was more than mere resignation, acceptance of damaged hopes and dreams. He could not name it, could not find the right word for it. So he continued to kiss Fenris.

Fenris' fingers went to the laces of Hawke's breeches and untied them. Damian did the same for him. Once they were naked, Damian held Fenris' face in his hands as a sign they did not need to proceed. He would be more than content if they left it at this, the feeling of Fenris naked against him, the taste of his tongue, the shared warmth of their bodies enough, already more than he deserved.

As if he had heard Damian's thoughts, Fenris broke the kiss and turned his head a little to the left. Then he placed a hand over Damian's and let his tongue swirl over a fingertip before enveloping it with his mouth. The heavy-lidded look he gave Damian while suckling on his index finger sent a clear message. A message which went straight to Damian's groin.

Last reservations abandoned, Damian lowered his hand, letting his moist finger escape from Fenris' mouth, and cupped his buttocks. He took ample time to prepare before taking his lover, switching to the balm he used to craft poultices once saliva was no longer sufficient to ease the friction.

He wanted to say something when he finally pushed inside, but there was so much that his mouth refused to form the words. How happy and grateful he was they had been granted this moment. That this was what he had needed, what they had both needed, to live with the wedge their stay in Tevinter had driven between them. That he had found peace now and knew he could care for Fenris the rest of their lives without it slowly eating him up. That he would give Fenris the patience and affection he deserved and never betray the trust placed in him here, now. So he held Fenris even more closely and angled himself to find that tender spot.

Neither of them made a sound during their lovemaking. Only their laboring breaths betrayed the continuous buildup of arousal, the nearing of the edge. Once Fenris grabbed Damian's left arm for support, but immediately withdrew upon touching the scars. There was no forgetting, no forgiving. But their kiss burned the worst of it away.

Their movements became more sloppy, more frantic. It did not take long before Damian felt Fenris shudder. Warm wetness against his stomach marked the elf's orgasm. He managed a few more thrusts before he too reached his peak. Damian hid his face in Fenris' neck as he came, a throaty moan dying before it came over his lips.

He wrapped his arms more tightly around Fenris and lay back on the bed, waiting for the remnants of pleasure to ebb away. For a while they remained still, not yet ready to accept it was over.

Eventually time came crawling back, making him aware of the chill in the air, of Fenris' ribcage pressing uncomfortably against his chest.

Damian Hawke wanted to say something. He still had not decided what yet. Perhaps it would come to him when he opened his mouth. The important things had already been said. The even more important things Fenris understood, without need for words. Perhaps he would go with the most obvious. The simplest, yet never spoken enough. Three words. He could manage that.

He took the necessary breath to carry the words, the first already forming on his lips, when Fenris pushed himself up a little and looked at him. Dull, emerald eyes stole the words away. The light, the spark which had marked the brief return of his sanity, had left them. A small, timid smile curled his mouth. "Thank you, Master."

THE END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank everyone who has read all this. It's a big compliment people cared enough to reach the final chapter. I really hope it was worth it and that I haven't let you down with the ending. Or that you hate me too much now. ;) An even greater thanks goes to everyone who has left a review. Although I enjoyed writing this a lot, I doubt I would have made it this far without the shared enthusiasm of the sweet people reading it all.
> 
> When I wrote the last chapter for Lyrium's Hold I honestly thought it would be the end of Fenris' and Hawke's tale, bittersweet as it was. I wanted to leave it open whether Fenris would end up recovering more or that he would forever be stuck with the effects of lyrium poisoning. Then a certain someone decided to start prodding me for a sequel, because surely our dear Fenris deserved better than the state I left him in? She kept throwing ideas at me in hopes of sparking inspiration. And some stuck. More popped up. So there will be another story, on Fenris' recovery. Many, many thanks are in order for my friend renfrees on the Bioware Forums (lethian on FF.net) for all the brainstorming she has been doing with me and the valuable feedback she has offered. Without her the sequel would never have seen the light of day. I will start posting the chapters for Solitude's Strain here on AO3 as well.
> 
> Because Fenris deserves better.


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